Jamie Evans and Fate's Fool
by The Mad Mad Reviewer
Summary: Harry Potter stepped back in time with enough plans to deal with just about everything fate could throw at him. He forgot one problem: He's fate's chewtoy. Mentions of rape, sex, unholy vengeance, and venomous squirrels. Reposted after takedown!
1. The Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Not your average time travel story. The writer also does not own Harry Potter, the Works of HP Lovecraft, or anything else he references in this story. He is also not responsible for your keyboard, or how much you spend at your local liquor story after reading this.

**Author's Preface**: Some of you are wondering why the hell this (along with the other 11 chapters of it) randomly re-appeared in your Alert's list. It's because I received my first take-down notice! I feel special. Titles and summaries for stories have to be G-rated, according to the one, single line in the guidelines. Oh, well. So, reposted in it's entirety, with a censored title and summary on the outside, I present:

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Prologue – I Said Bend Over And Take It**

0x0x0x0

I wake up and realize I'm in the right damn place.

There, above me, is that blasted off-white ceiling that I'd grown to hate over six summers. Petunia called it Navajo White. I knew the colour by heart because I had to re-paint it every summer before I left. The walls too. Something about covering up the freakishness in the room as I recall. Vernon had a belt for when I dripped paint on the floor. They also made sure I didn't have any newspaper, either.

I glance at the calendar on the wall; July 18th, 1991.

This isn't right. I'm supposed to be in a cupboard under the stairs, _not_ the second bedroom.

I swear under my breath as I sit up, realising at once something else is wrong. Certainly I feel small, but at ten years old? That, and fitting clothes? I need a mirror. A wave of my hand, and… well.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I am no longer the _Boy_-Who-Lived.

Messy black hair, emerald green eyes, and an angry red lightning bolt scar are still there, but all the other features are softer, more feminine. A quick check of my clothing, and I'm wearing white cotton knickers, and… and… fuck!

Fuck you fate.

I suppose having hope was too much to ask for.

I check my Occlumency, dig and root around for a minute or two. There's a small little thing of pain and misery that's retreated so far into itself I wonder if I'll ever be able to dig it out. As well as that wonderful little splotch of hatred and nastiness. I trace it out, feeling the broken shards of a human soul floating on top of my psyche. It's definitely still a piece of a Dark Lord.

I had a master plan when stepping back in time; plans within plans, contingencies and backups, the whole nine yards. I thought I'd embraced my Slytherin side. Nope. Potter needs to bend over and take it up the ass.

Again!

I check the wards on the property. They're already starting to fade. That part I at least got right. Not my problem. I need them for one last ditch effort, and then I won't need them ever again. The piece of the Dark Lord in my head needs to go.

Fact: Dumbledore's an asshole. He probably knew about this way out. He'd researched Horcruxes quite a bit, but withheld it all "for the greater good." Maybe he wanted the glory all to himself, maybe he thought it'd be best if I was just a good little martyr, dying for the Wizarding World rather than living in the corrupt cesspit he knew it had become.

Which is understandable really.

I feel that strange and broken piece of a twisted human soul start to squirm as I begin squeezing it. It lashes out. It knows who I am, or at least thinks it does, so it attacks with memories that should revolt me. Cruciating someone's brains into oatmeal, watching Death Eaters gang rape a seven-year old girl, all the usual revolting horror that's supposed to break a little girl.

It doesn't. Instead there's no reaction from that little ball of misery.

I fire back with the last thing Voldemort expects, given my history; the birth of my son. The damn thing nearly screams in pain, and my scar opens up, thick, black, blood leaking down my face. I tear apart the little bastard, keeping the ability to speak Parseltongue in the process. His memories and experiences fall apart and leak out my face, while a whole host of magic pours through me.

I check that little ball again. Nothing.

Maybe this is why Albus didn't want me doing it this way. I can feel the Dark Lord's magic being torn apart and assimilated by my soul. Not just the Parseltongue, but his actual magic. How much he has is… terrifying.

I didn't hold a candle to him before this. Now?

Christ.

Either way, I drop a cooling charm on myself, shivering as I prepare to cast the spell that'll free me of all of Dumbledore's tracking, including the health monitor that'd tell him just how much misery and pain Jessica has undergone. Much like the wards on the house, they're bound to blood. My blood. Not Lily's. _Mine._ There's a long, involved, and relatively painless process to free me of Dumbledore's tracking, but I don't have time for it. Instead, I use the quick and extraordinarily painful one. There's a specific blood-boiling curse that causes _all_ of your blood to boil.

Including the stuff that's _outside_your body.

Oh, it hurts. It's not the Cruciatus, but my blood is literally trying to boil in my veins. I hold it for ten seconds, then let it go, collapsing to the floor as that little ball inside my head tightens just that little bit more.

"It's okay," I say, partially to myself, partially to the little girl trapped in her own head. "We're done. And we're leaving."

There's no response. I wasn't expecting one. After all, who in their right mind would trust me?


	2. Chapter the 1st: Laying the Groundwork

Warning: I suppose I should have dropped this warning at the end of the last chapter, but this isn't the usual time travel story. I mean, obviously, that's evidenced by Harry not being male and all... but it's also different because he isn't a twenty-something who jumped back in time. Or a teenager.

Second, all will be explained. Or mostly explained. Or explained enough that it can be inferred. Questions can always be directed at me. Answers may be incomprehensible, vague, full of foreshadowing and/or not in a human tongue. And possibly contain spoilers. Ask at your own risk.

Third, and most importantly... this isn't about Voldemort. It's about Harry getting past what Albus has done to him. And other stuff. Don't worry, though, there'll still be the usual "End of Year Surprise."

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the First – Laying the Groundwork**

0x0x0x0

Wizards are idiots. It's a simple fact.

Bellatrix LeStrange walked through Diagon Alley and not a single person noticed or cared.

Granted, she was walking with a carefree, happy smile, delighting in being amongst the Wizarding Populace, and handing out candy to all the children she saw, but she still walked right down Diagon Alley without a single person realizing who she was.

The goblins did, but they certainly didn't care. Nor did they care when Bellatrix emptied all of the gold from her vault, and also took a golden cup. They did mind a little bit when she took a goblin-wrought sword and matching scabbard, but were mollified when they were informed them she'd be closing the vault. She was very apologetic about it, especially since the goblins would have to keep all of the goblin-wrought artefacts the LeStranges had collected over the years.

Then I ran the bitch through with the sword.

She screamed, cursing my name, as I withdrew the sword. Possession is tricky, but not that tricky on someone who's been trapped in Azkaban for ten years. Granted, it gives me the fucking heeby-jeebies and I'll be in the shower for the next month, but it works.

Oh well, at least it wasn't hard since I knew Sirius' method.

Griphook is still smiling as he hands me the key to my new vault, filled with the LeStrange gold.

"Thankfully the sword will not absorb the properties of a crazy bitch," I tell him. He gives a cruel smile. "Sadly, I still have need of a goblin-forged sword, and have neither the time nor inclination to commission one. I will put this one to use destroying the enemies of all living and sane people, before returning it to the goblin nation with a record of its deeds. Also, I'll see if I can steal the sword Godric Gryffindor commissioned while I'm at it."

Griphook considers me for a long moment, before nodding.

The sword is now hiding underneath my cloak, while I left the cup in my own vault, for now. I make a quick stop at a few apothecaries. I buy the usual first-year supplies at each one, and also "a few ingredients for my da." I show them a written list for each one. They shouldn't have sold me half of them, but I have a note from "my da," so I walk out with everything I need.

I also stop at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hedwig is waiting for me. I swear she recognizes me when she lands on my head. I tell the owner my mum said I needed an owl, and hand him the gold.

The tent is easy too. I'm the innocent little pureblood girl picking out a tent for "roughing it." So it only has three bedrooms, two baths, a hot tub, fully stocked kitchen, and well appointed dining room.

Apparating away is a little difficult, but it's easy enough to turn down one of the various side alleys and apparate to one of England's various forests. Hedwig's a little annoyed by the process, but found it to her liking once I'd set up the tent, fixed up the wards, and started cooking some of the food I stole from the Dursleys. Bacon for my most wonderful owl, and real food for myself.

I can't eat very much of it. I'm not surprised.

After a good night's sleep, the next thing on the agenda is Hedwig. She's beautiful, wonderful, and everything else. I don't want to lose her. Not now, not ever, not again. She was my first true friend in the Wizarding World. Hagrid may have brought me into it, but he was Dumbledore's man. Hedwig was mine. And she gave her life for me. I owe her.

The Ritual of Familiarity is one of the few pieces of blood magic with an exemption on it, largely because it's expected of powerful wizards to have familiars. While a familiar bond can form between an animal and a human, the Ritual of Familiarity goes beyond that, linking together the strengths and magics of a wizard and his familiar. I'm also pretty certain it's part of what drove Riddle and Dumbledore off the deep-end.

Riddle didn't bind himself to Nagini. That wouldn't have been grandiose enough. Instead, he bound himself to Slytherin's basilisk. Given the creature had been trapped in a basement for the better part of a thousand years, the thing was mad. The madness carried over to Riddle. There's a reason he committed his first murder so soon after finding the chamber.

Dumbledore is much more interesting. Fawkes is an inherently magical creature, and one that is wholly immortal. Its magic, its soul, they're radically different from a human's, and Dumbledore linked his with Fawkes. Defeating his closest friend Grindelwald soon afterwards likely didn't help his sanity, especially given how he did it. He kept it together, but as time went on… well, the things he did "for the greater good" were obviously reprehensible. I wouldn't be surprised if Fawkes allowed Dumbledore to die, rather than try to heal him.

Combine that with Horcruxes and it's the goddamn diving board for the deep end.

All of which brings me to Hedwig.

She's sitting on my knee while I'm painting runes on her chest using my own blood. I'm not going to try and make myself greater by bonding with her. I'm not expecting to bind some great and all-powerful mythic beast to my soul. All I want is to protect my first friend.

The next set of runes are written on my skin with Hedwig's blood. She's perched on me as this happens. I can already start to feel her, the bewilderment and wonder and love, as she starts to understand my own feelings for her. It starts getting stronger and stronger, as I complete the runes. They begin to glow, as my magic reacts, powering them. They glow, and I ignore them, instead looking at Hedwig.

The runes on her chest are glowing too, and I can feel the emotions radiating off of her, mixing with mine, and she understands. She understands so much, how a different version of herself loved me enough to give her own life for me. How she was my familiar, and I want that, and I want more than that. Memories of events that never happened flood between us. I close my eyes and drift on the magic, letting it direct and take hold. My own magic pours into her, I can feel it pool and gather within her, and then I feel something else entirely come back.

It leaves me tired and drained, but happy and full of warmth and love.

"Thank you."

Hearing the words I open my eyes, and see that I no longer have an owl perched on my crossed legs. Instead, I have a harpy. Wide amber eyes stare at me, hiding just under a messy fringe of white hair and feathers. She's smiling, her face pale white skin, while the rest of her body is covered in white feathers and down. Her legs are longer, and each one has taken a knee, and her wingspan's gotten a lot larger, nearly four feet.

"You're welcome," I reply, smiling. I reach out and touch her face. She rubs up against it, and neither of us could be happier.

0x0x0x0

The nightmare hits like a freight train. It isn't mine. It's Jessica's.

It's dark. There's a fat menacing figure, forcing something into her mouth, forcing her to spread her legs. She bleeds from down there, as something enters it. There's pain down there, and then there's pain across her face. A voice hisses, whispers, some strange combination of Vernon and Voldemort, "I told you to keep quiet."

I follow the nightmare into a little girl's mind.

This wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

White wings envelope me, they envelope the both of us, calming us as rage boils through me. Jessica shrinks back, thinking I'm coming for her. Instead, I take hold of a metaphysical hand, and bring her close to me. I gently coax her into my arms, swearing, promising, that I'll never hurt her, and that I'll never allow her to be hurt again.

She's broken, so horribly broken. I show her love, and instead of coming together, instead of pulling herself into a single, whole piece... she slips apart in my arms. She comes undone. She falls apart, and I'm left holding memories. There was nothing to hold her together. She wasn't a person anymore. She was a thing. She was so broken and shattered that when something came along to try and put her back together, she just slipped apart. I could actually feel her soul release, moving onwards to the next great adventure. I hoped and prayed someone there would do the same, so that even in death, she could find release.

When I wake up I'm crying. Hedwig is on the bed, staying with me, and I can feel her own tears reach me.

I start picking through what Jessica's left to me. Memories of abuse, of beatings, of rape are set aside, to the words which stick out to me.

"Your parents abandoned you," said Vernon. It sticks like lit napalm, a burning pain through my mind that won't come off until it's done. There's the usual "useless freaks" and "worthless unemployed drunks." There was generally a "just like you" or "just like you'll become." The usual bullshit I had to deal with growing up. Was being a girl just that different? Was it the rape, combined with the beatings and everything else?

There's something else. I have to dig for it, tracing back pieces of psychological damage and torment back to their very source.

"Where're my parents?" asked a four-year-old Jessica Hope Potter.

"They abandoned you," said Petunia, her usual disgust evident at having to even talk to her niece.

"They didn't care," said Vernon, "because you're just as much a worthless freak as they were."

That was it.

I look over the memories with a new light. The crushing despair, building on tiny shoulders, as year after year sloughed by. There was no single incident that stood out, no single thing that broke her. It was just horror after horror, abuse after abuse, beating after beating, rape after rape. She held on, just as I had, but the apparent fact her parents didn't care? The sexual abuse heaped on top of the physical abuse? That her parents had left her to these monsters? What did she have left?

She lost hope.

I let out a sad laugh, the cosmic cruelty, the terrible irony of it all. I can't help it. Tears stream down my face for my lost twin, for the lost little girl who had no hope. Who had it stolen away from her.

I need to know. I need to find out if James and Lily Potter are still alive.

0x0x0x0

Secrets don't have to be places. I don't want people to know who I am.

Hedwig acts as my secret's keeper.

It's July 24th. I'm now physically sixteen, thanks to a rather impressive (and permanent) aging potion. Thanks to the four dozen nutrient potions I drank (and pissed out) while growing, I'm not a freakish twig. Instead, I'd hit on myself, if I didn't look like my gender-twisted twin. The disturbing part of all this, is my old basilisk scar came back. The wound didn't reopen or anything, but… the white scar-tissue reformed after taking the potion. Is it fate reminding me? Or something else? It's just one more scar, and one with a good memory attached to it, unlike any of the others.

Flourish and Bott's still has a whole section on the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry James Potter is a year older than Jessica was. There's no mention of Jessica at all. Whether that's due to the usual Wizarding Stupidity, or Jessica was kept a secret is up in the air. There's still a problem, however.

Harry was born August 2nd. I definitely need to break into Albus' office before I kill Tom. I doubt Harry's marked as his equal, but I need to be sure.

The Potters were, at least, betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, but he still escaped, killing twelve muggles. Some books talk about how Remus Lupin may or may not have betrayed the Potters, but he died defending them. There was a jagged scar, apparently, on Harry's chest, because of all of this.

All that echoes through my mind is, "Neither can live, while the other survives." I've taken up Jessica's mantle. So I look into the Black Family History. Regulus is still dead. My course of action is decided, as I apparate to Number Twelve Grimmuald Place.

The place is as shitty and rundown as I remember it being. Sirius definitely doesn't live here. I walk up the steps, and knock. Kreacher answers, staring at me for a long moment.

"You is a Black, but you isn't a Black," he tells me. "What do you want?"

"Regulus left you with a task, Kreacher," I begin. The surprise on the little imp's face is worth it.

"He did. How did you know?"

"If you fetch it, I will complete it," I reply.

Kreacher considers this for a long moment.

"Will you do it here?"

"No. I will call upon you September the First. Other things must be dealt with before then. I will be at Hogwarts. Will this be an issue?"

"Kreacher will bring the locket when Black who isn't a Black calls," is all Kreacher says.

"Excellent. Be gone."

Kreacher nods, and returns to the house. I'd have thanked him, but he'd look at me funny.

0x0x0x0

I avoid Number Four. If I do go there, I'll probably murder Vernon. Instead, I shop for a nice muggle house, claiming an inheritance from my grouchy old, crazy bitch of an aunt.

The house me and Hedwig settle on is a nice place. Two story Victorian, in Devon. It needs a little work, but I know how to fix up a place. It'll be a little empty for now, but a big part of me wants a family.

Not sure how I plan on pulling that off, yet.

0x0x0x0

It's just as easy to break into Hogwarts now as when Sirius did it. In fact, I probably break in the same way.

Safest place in the world my left ass-cheek.

First stop is the second floor bathroom, and entrance of the Chamber of Secrets. I shore up the ceiling, and enter the Chamber itself. One grandiose password later, and I can hear the basilisk coming. I can hear it whispering, muttering about killing mudbloods, drinking their precious bodily fluids, and crunching their bones to dust.

It's anti-climatic, really. I don't care about the carcass, so I use the Damned Fog Curse. Poor thing doesn't even realize what it's slithering into, before its eyes turn to puss. A wind blows the black, unholy fog into Slytherin's mouth. The basilisk's scales are blackened and torn, and blood is pouring from its mouth.

A sixty food snake gargling its own blood is a sound I hope to never hear again.

It crashes to the ground, its tongue halfway melted as it tries to breathe. A purple wedge of ghastly power crashes into its neck, ripping through the scales, and digging a five meter furrow in the stone around it. The basilisk tries to move, tries to find me, but a second one digs through the flesh, cutting the spine and tearing apart the ceiling above it. It crashes to the floor, body twitching. The third cuts off the head, and makes my hand start to smoke.

A quick cooling charm, and a few simple healing spells fixes that; the one drawback of wandless magic.

The goblin sword slips as easily into the venom sacs as before.

I wonder if Riddle will check on the animal, but I have to assume he won't. While it's easy to sneak around the castle, I don't plan on giving him much time to do so.

I take the fangs as souvenirs, and then drain the rest of the venom sac to sell. I stop before I leave, deciding I want something to mount on my wall.

Afterwards, I make a detour to grab the diadem, and drop it in a sack.

If Riddle does find either of them gone, let him worry.

0x0x0x0

I eat lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, mostly to read the newspaper, and maybe to be around people too.

It's business as usual at Privet Drive. According to the Dursleys, I've been shipped off to St. Trinian's School for Girls, a year-round school. I imagine it's pretty similar to the Brutus School for Incurably Criminal boys, given the way Hedwig laughs at it. She's the one that's taken a liking to muggle books, especially romance novels. It makes me want to vomit, what with some of the lurid prose.

"Wotcher," says a voice I'd recognize anywhere. The girl however, I've never seen before, but that doesn't surprise me.

"Hi?" I say, somewhat surprised anyone is talking to me. Generally only Tom bothers me. The girl (fine, young woman) is dressed in her usual strange uniform, but is lacking bubblegum pink hair. Little wonder I didn't recognize her.

"You look like you could use some company," says Tonks, taking a seat across from me.

"Ah," I say, staring at her from over my newspaper.

Tom quickly ambles over and gets her order. He smiles at me, since I've managed to eat nearly half of my own plate. Between him and Hedwig, I'll actually be able to gain weight some day. I'm using nutrient potions to make sure I don't lose any, at least.

"So who are you?" asks Tonks, without actually telling me her name.

"Jamie Evans," I reply. According to the Goblins, I'm an eighteen year old muggleborn witch who was home-schooled, which is very nearly an oxymoron given how little information is given to muggleborn parents. They've rather obviously bribed the Ministry to agree with these events. I say obviously, because it doesn't _matter_ if it's obvious or not. I have no past information, so there's no point in trying to hide the fact that mine's fake.

According to muggle records, I'm eighteen, and graduated from Stonewall High with decent grades. I actually took NEWTs in Charms, Potions, and Defence last week. I terrified the examiner because I got Os in everything without a wand, informing him, "I would never lower myself to using a wand for such a simple task."

"Tonks," says Tonks.

"That a first name or a last name?" I ask. She smiles and deflects.

"What'cha reading?" she says, smiling.

"Quibbler. I can only stand the Prophet so much." I was reading it upside down, as it's supposed to be read.

"I know how you feel. My uncle Sirius complains about the Prophet pretty regularly."

"Oh?" I ask. Sirius is out of prison. Not surprising, given Remus is dead. James and Lily would have been able to exonerate him, and dump the blame on Peter. Jessica had some vague recollection of Moony and green lights.

I smile as she does a decent impression of Sirius. His voice is deeper, fuller, but I recognize it anyways.

"That's pretty good," I say, knowing how she pulled it off. "He seems a character."

"Thanks a bunch. Yeah, he's always been pretty nuts, but he's a great uncle."

I decide against mentioning I stole from her uncle, and instead ask about a Sirius Black that never went to Azkaban. Besides, it's a history lesson, isn't it?

So Tonks starts bugging me on a regular basis. She's still an Auror Trainee, and she's still working her way through the program, but she's nice. Bubbly and cute, but nice.

0x0x0x0

"Wotcher, Jamie."

"Tonks," I reply, looking up from my paper. It's August 30th. Two more days, and I'm already nervous. Granted, it's not like I'm about to do something stupid. I glance up at her. She's changed herself again. She's a little taller, her face has taken on a more masculine slant, and her hair's pretty short. Figure wise, her breasts are smaller, and her hips are slimmer, more masculine.

Questions about Metamorphmagi that I've never thought before are being raised in my mind.

"Trying out a new look?" I ask.

"Yeah, something like that," she says, perking up. "What do you think?"

"I suppose for Auror work it's better to be taller and more imposing. Honestly, I think being more feminine works better for you, though."

Tonks nods, smiling.

"You started job-hunting, yet?"

"Not really. I was waiting for school to start."

"I'd have thought lots of places in the alley would be looking with school starting on the first."

"Muggle job hunting," I say. "A lot of the magical world's left a bad taste in my mouth."

"Leaving it all behind? What were you planning on doing?"

"Not leaving. Just keeping my distance. Right now? I'm young. I figure retail while I get certified for teaching."

"Teaching? Muggle teaching?"

"For now. Maybe magical at some point. I'll have to get a Mastery or two, first, I suppose."

"Mastery or two? The few people that get them only get one, at most."

"I got Os on my Charms and Defence NEWTs without a wand. I think I'll manage."

"Without... wait, I've never seen your wand, have I?"

"No, because I don't really use a wand, except for Transfiguration. I'm thinking of just going for a Mastery, but I need a new wand, first."

"You want to go get one?" asks Tonks, smiling at me.

It'd be useful, I think. I've been meaning to check the prices on basilisk parts, might as well do it after getting a wand made.

"Sure, why not?" I say. I pay Tom, and then follow Tonks into the Alley. I'm wearing vaguely muggle clothing, slacks, button-down shirt, and matching sport-coat. Walking in with Tonks, nobody even notices me, as we make our way to Ollivander's shop.

He rattles off Tonks' wand, then examines me for a long moment.

"It's been a long time since I've made a wand for a warlock."

"Fuck," I mutter, while Tonks eyes me critically. I search through the pockets of my sport coat, and remove the small vial, and the ten inch fang. "Which do you want?"

He examines both, looking at the vial through the dusty light of his shop window, while holding the fang itself.

"What is that?" asks Tonks.

"Basilisk," I reply.

"Oh," says Tonks, realizing that I do, in fact, have that important qualification to be a warlock. The other being I know the proper spells. Which I do, and far more terrible and awe-inspiring things than that. There is, however, always the important litmus test. "And the err...?"

I take off my jacket, and pull up the back of my shirt.

Tonks gasps in horror at my back, but still touches her wand to the magical tattoo itself. The tattoo is a pretty interesting piece of magic, and what Voldemort based the Dark Mark off of. It doesn't come off. It's tied directly into the soul, and it returned within a week of arriving back in time. It's proof of my skill as a warlock. That I know the spells, that I've slain a creature, and that I've proven myself in battle. This one was given by Miskatonic University, in the New World. The Book, Skull, and Rose surrounded by Runes is an impressive sight to anyone who actually knows what it is.

"What... what happened?" asks Tonks, as I drop my shirt back down. She doesn't notice the fang scar on my arm, even as she sits down in the lone chair.

"My relatives," I reply.

"Not the crazy aunt?" asks Tonks.

"No. She was psychotic, but rarely to me." That's a true fact. It was only twice. Then Molly killed her.

Tonks nods, but doesn't pry any further.

Ollivander takes both the fang and vial, and tells me to come back tomorrow.

Tonks slowly walks back to the Leaky Cauldron, following in my wake as I return to my floo.

"Hey, Jamie..." she starts, as I'm about to toss in some powder.

"Yes?"

"Can I... can I get some practice in with you? Once you have your wand?"

I stare at her for a long moment, then nod.

"Great," she says, deep in thought. "I'll talk with you next time I see you, alright?"

0x0x0x0

Retrieving my wand was uneventful. Testing it out was.

My Holly and Phoenix feather was a good duellist's wand; very fast spellwork, and very protective of me. Even more so after I repaired it using the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand, however, was a nightmare. Not as fast, but definitely filled with raw power. Everything came out meaner and nastier. The shields were always weaker, but they never allowed a spell to bleed through. With transfiguration, Holly and Phoenix was good for object transfiguration, while the Elder Wand was outstanding at outright permanent conjuration. What the Elder Wand created, stayed, no matter who tried to dispel it.

Basilisk and banyan. It's a weird combination, and a surprise that Ollivander even had the wood. It's very slick, slippery with magic. I spend the entire day trying it out, figuring out what it's good for. The thing is quick, very quick, faster than Holly and Phoenix feather on the draw, and also with its spells. It can't handle power with charms, but that's not something I'm overly worried about. Instead, it's an absolute beast with transfiguration. A literal beast. Living-to-living, object-to-living, animation, it does it all with style, panache, and horror.

Hedwig points out that if I'm not paying attention, everything comes out dripping with venomous fangs. I amused myself with a few sheep that immediately attempted to kill each other. I knew better than to make a bunny, at least. I also check, and everything speaks Parseltongue. Disturbing.

I make a solid meal for the evening, and lay out the sword for tomorrow.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Note:**Banyan Tree's are said to be reflected, to have their roots upwards, and their branches downwards. It seemed appropriate. Also, the way that a Banyan tree supplants it's host tree. Jamie could have picked up her Holly and Phoenix wand... but didn't. Instead, she has this. Most importantly, Basilisk and Banyan rolls off the tongue really nicely. That's key.

The Book, Skull, and Rose was from a Miskatonic University T-shirt I picked up at a sci-fi con... maybe eight years ago? I wish it hadn't become holy. I really liked that shirt.

We've also established that Jamie is not Someone to be Fucked With (TM).

Next week: Murder! Violence! Horcruxes! Dumbledore! The Potters! Lucius Malfoy getting smacked around! Whatever the Hell Else I Include!


	3. Chapter the 2nd: The Power He Knows Not

Disclaimer: My sanity may be questionable, but I know I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be posting on FFN, now would I?

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Second – The Power He Knows Not**

0x0x0x0

The Headmaster's office is difficult to break into from the inside. So I break into it from the outside. The window isn't as heavily warded as he'd like it to be. Certainly, there are the usual unbreakable charms, anti-bombardment charms, and even a broom warding charm. I could take them down from the outside, but I'd likely alert everyone in the school.

Instead, Hedwig enters via the post owl entrance, and then opens the window from the inside.

I float through the window, and land on the ground. Fawkes is on his perch, singing gaily to Hedwig. I wave my wand over his chair, dispelling a small ward on it, and drop a small sack on the old goat's desk. I walk over to the cabinet dripping silver strands of memory. I stare at it for a long moment, before turning to Fawkes.

"If I enter this cabinet, will you stop me, Fawkes?"

The phoenix considers me for a long moment. Judging me. It (for such creatures are beyond the aspects of gender) shakes its head.

"What about the drawer under the cabinet?" I ask.

It shakes its head once more, faster this time.

I thank Fawkes and then begin striping the cabinet of its wards and charms. Albus wasn't overly concerned with the cabinet, assuming the wards of the castle would protect it. Normally, he'd have been right.

I open the black wooden doors, and move the glowing strands of memory within the bowl to groups of vials. If the old goat survives, let him sort them all out. I lift the Pensieve out of the cabinet, and place it on the desk. I take the necessary memory vial, and empty it into the Pensieve. The drawer underneath, however, is well defended. I've taken this ward apart before, however, and know what to do. It isn't overtly nasty, but it's insidious in how it's designed. It took me three days to figure out the correct order in which to take it apart.

All in all, not a difficult thirty minutes. I remove the journal with a pair of cast iron blacksmith's tongs, and drop it onto the desk. I retrieve the cup and diadem from the sack, and sit in Albus' chair.

It is now time to wait. And also, to listen to a prophecy, just to be sure.

0x0x0x0

It's a half-hour after the train leaves that I hear the gargoyle move at the base of the stairs. I lean forward, my chin resting on my clasped hands, and wait. While I wait, I start unbinding my magic. I'm probably going to have to fight someone, and it's a good idea to be at my best.

The door swings open, and Albus Dumbledore stops suddenly when he sees me staring at him from behind his own desk. Fawkes is perched on my shoulder, to add to his confusion.

"Albus?" asked a woman's voice behind him. "What's going on?"

"Enter," I say. Albus already has his wand out, and as soon as he sees the journal on the desk, leads with a rather complicated stunner. He uses a quick-draw holster, and the Elder Wand itself can't be summoned, so I don't bother with trying to disarm him. The Elder Wand would not heed a master from the future. Instead, I just focus my magic, and overwhelm the stunner. It fades away in mid-air. Albus is impressed, confused, and curious. He's probably seen people do that before, but he can't do it himself. Mostly because it's considered a "dark art." I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"Do sit down, Albus, we have much to discuss."

Then I see who was following him.

James and Lily Potter.

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Do sit down as well."

The ice in my voice is literal. It forms on the walls. Fawkes gives a slight cry and nips my ear. This is the reason it's consider a dark art. My magic can overwhelm others, but it also physically expresses itself.

"Who are you?" asks James, while Lily stares at me, wide-eyed.

My magic touches the Pensieve, and the prophecy begins.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..._" I let it stop there.

"Albus, that is part of the prophecy, correct? After all, this is both your memories, and your Pensieve."

"A fascinating bit of trivia, yes, but what does it matter?" replies Albus. "I'm more surprised that you know of it."

"When was Harry born?" I ask, ignoring his leading statement, and also the mild compulsion charm in his words.

"August 2nd," replies James.

The wheels are turning in Lily's head. She's the smartest witch in her generation. I can practically feel the bindings come apart on whatever confoundings Albus has placed.

"James, how can Harry be born 'as the seventh month dies' when he was born in the beginning of the eighth month?"

"Well, he can't, but what does that matter?"

"Then who is the subject of the prophecy?"

"Well, Harry…" started James. "Wait… oh. Oh, Merlin. Albus, what did you do? What did you do to us?"

"Killed your daughter," I reply.

"What?" Lily asks, enraged.

"Whose idea was it for the blood wards?" I ask.

"Albus'," replies James. "They were your idea, Albus. All of it was your idea. Why, Albus? You said she was safe, damn it! Why?"

"There are very good reasons, that involve the Greater Good of the world," replies Albus, falling back on his old shield and sword; _The Greater Good_.

"So it was the Greater Good to steal a child from her parents, and make her survive in hell itself?" I ask. "To make her parents believe they gave her up, of their own free will, only to see the horror you perpetrated against her?"

"She was protected!" shouts Albus. "The wards-"

"MEANT NOTHING!" I shout back. "She wasn't killed by Death Eaters, you goat-addled fool! She was destroyed by her own Aunt and Uncle! Her own _family!_ She would have been protected by the prophecy! She would have been protected by her brother! SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE."

On this, Albus falls silent.

"You thought you knew best, and your best wasn't enough, Albus. It _never_ is. Which brings us to the rest of the prophecy," I add.

"_And the Dark Lord will mark the child as his equal, but the child will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can life while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."_

_"Neither can live, while the other survives,_" I intone for added effect. I remove that memory, and drop one of Jessica's nightmares into it.

"Consider those words as you view this."

My magic forces them into the Pensieve.

"It was for the Greater Good," pleads Albus, as though it were a shield against all wrong-doing.

"A little girl was stolen from her parents, tortured, beaten, and raped because you needed her to be, Albus. Your Greater Good is a crock of shit. The sad fact? You'd do it all again. And again. And again. And you'd sweep it all under the rug, and paint over your guilt with _'it was for the greater good!'_"

"It was!" Albus shouts, trying to cut me off, end the argument. "It needed to be done! It had to be! She had to be the self-less heroine, the one willing to die to save us all!"

I sit there, impassive, as he shouts this.

I consider his words for a long moment.

"You want redemption, Albus? You want someone's forgiveness for this? A witness' absolution for your crimes? There's a shack with the skeleton of a snake nailed to its door. You'll find a ring underneath the floor. Bring it here, and you will have earned my forgiveness. By the way, I need to borrow Fawkes, but the Astronomy Tower isn't too far."

Albus leaves at a dead run. I'm surprised. I'd have thought he'd argue with me more about it. I guess he isn't as much of a monster I thought he'd be.

"And lock the door behind you!" I shout after him. "Hey Fawkes, want to give me a lift to Malfoy Manor? I promise it's not to beat up Lucius." Fawkes gives me a look. The bird's smart. I'm sure it recognizes me, even with the time-skip. "Alright, so I might beat him up a little bit. But it's to recover a dark artefact, I swear!"

The bird gives a nice chirp, and we disappear in a burst of flame.

And reappear in the middle of Lucius Malfoy's lunch party, with the elder Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe. Fawkes has a sense for the dramatic, and drops me on their table, scattering their food. I wave my hand, and throw everyone across the room. I follow up with a stunner to them, and the grey light of an Obliviation changes my muggle clothing and black hair, to a silver beard and the garish orange robes Dumbledore was wearing.

It takes me a minute to find the drawing room. I might have taken a quick detour through a few rooms, and liberated a few things too. I throw the rug aside, and ignore the elves that have gathered to watch me rob their master's home. The fact they do nothing is somewhat indicative of just how little they care for their master. I find the drawing room's safe, a massive block of obsidian that's warded against intrusion.

There are few spells that are capable of destroying anything and everything. I don't really care about the contents of the safe, and expect only one or two items to survive long enough for me to open it.

So Fiendfyre.

The Hungarian Horntail forms on the rug, and gingerly steps onto the safe. Claws of living fire dig into the black, mirrored face of the safe. Heat is actually the best way to destroy one of these safes. The obsidian starts to crack, shatter, and explode as the Horntail keeps clawing at it. My magic prevents the shrapnel from hurting any of the witnesses for my assault. Instead, it's a pleasant five minutes of shattering rock and pinging of pebbles before the Horntail throws aside a large block of stone, and flames spew from the depths of the safe itself. I dismiss the Horntail, dismiss the fires, and pick the un-harmed diary from within the safe.

I stare at it for a moment longer, and then wave my hand again.

Let the Horntail play in the safe.

I glance at the elves.

"If Lucy ever lowers himself to ask who I was, my name is Albus Dumbledore, alright?" I even glamour my robes garish orange, and a fake long beard. The elves nod.

"Thank you."

They all smile at the thanks, and pop away.

Fawkes takes me back to Hogwarts, and I throw the recovered diary onto the desk. Lily and James are still in the Pensieve, and Albus hasn't returned yet.

Fawkes was a little disgruntled about carrying the book, but he knows what's going on. I sit in the chair, conjure a pair of seats for the Potters, and wait.

It's a long damn nightmare.

In the meantime, I walk over to the Sorting Hat, and drop it on my head.

"Well, now," comments the hat. "Not often an adult asks to be sorted."

"Just dump me in Gryffindor and let the sword bonk me on the head."

The hat hums and haws over this request, and I can feel its light touches in my mind.

"I'm afraid you aren't a Gryffindor, any longer," says the hat.

I sigh, but nod.

"Hufflepuff, I think," the hat adds. "You work hard for everything, now. And your selflessness has overtaken your bravery by a wide margin. Helga would frown at your methods, but she'd know you were meant for her house."

I smile, and take off the hat, placing it on the shelf.

"Thanks," I add, and return to Albus' seat.

Hedwig chimes into my head that Albus is on his way back. He appears with a bang, collapsed and gasping for breath. There's a portkey in his left hand, and his right is already blackening around a simple ring with a green stone. I don't cast what few counters exist to the spell, while Fawkes looks on with sympathy, but not forgiveness. Albus is half-conscious.

Half-conscious, especially for him, is still dangerous. The Potters both fall backward at the same time, collapsing into the conjured chairs. James is enraged, while Lily is cold. I petrify both of them.

I conjure a third chair.

"Albus, plant your ass in the chair." I give him a moment to acknowledge me. Lightning shoots from my finger tips into Albus, and his wand is still quick enough to deflect it. He forces himself to stand, and drops into the chair, drained but alive.

"You knew this would happen," he wheezes out.

"Of course I did. My forgiveness is pretty easy. Die. In so doing, you'll never destroy another innocent."

"It was for the Greater Good."

"She did not survive," I reply. Lily makes a noise. I included, as the final memory, her strange end in that dreamscape. "Hand me the ring."

Albus considers the ring for a long moment, before removing it from his withered fingers, and placing it in my gloved hand. I can feel the creeping decay crawl up his arm. I inspect it, before setting it aside.

"As I said, great and terrible minds think alike, Albus Dumbledore," I say, removing Riddle's diary from the sac, and placing it on the desk. He winces at that. "For your edification, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, these objects are soul anchors. Horcurxes. They bind a living person to this world. They are, mostly, created by peeling off a piece of the human soul through the act of a cold-blooded murder, and then attaching it to an object. Kreacher."

"Your Blackness called?" states the house-elf, popping in a moment later. He's holding the locket.

"Place the locket on the ground, Kreacher. You shall complete the task Regulus gave you."

"Of course, your Blackness." He watches as I draw the sword from within my cloak, and hand it to him, handle-first.

"Your Blackness?" he asks, confused.

"You shall complete your task, Kreacher. As Regulus commanded it, so it shall be done."

Kreacher swallows. Tears start to form in his eyes, as he takes hold of the sword.

"I will open the locket, as only I and the Dark Lord can. It is a piece of the Dark Lord, Kreacher. It will tempt you. It will lie to you. Remember Regulus, and destroy it."

Kreacher nods. I hiss the password, and the locket opens. Kreacher doesn't even wait for the thing to fully form. He gives a cry, the sword comically held over his head, and he brings it down on the locket. It screams, a high-pitched death knell that makes my teeth rattle.

"Know, Kreacher, that you have avenged a member of the House of Black." He hands me back the sword, openly weeping.

"Thank you, your Blackness." With that, Kreacher pops away.

"So ends Slytherin's Locket, the last possession of Merope Gaunt, mother of Voldemort, made with the murders of his own father and grandparents. This is Helga Hufflepuff's Cup."

I levitate it to the floor, and then cut it in half. It, too, screams its destruction.

"Ravenclaw's Diadem."

This time I silence the scream.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle's personal Diary, made with the death of Moaning Myrtle."

Ink spills from the diary, onto the floor.

"The Gaunt Family Ring, made by the murder of Voldemort's grandfather." I turn the ring three times in my hand, and call up the spectre of a little girl. She sits on the desk, shrunk into herself.

"Hello, Jessica," I say.

She doesn't answer. James and Lily stare at her, equal parts horror and need. They want to break the bindings and hold her, hug her, and keep her here.

"Jessica Hope Potter. Voldemort's last Horcrux. Made by accident, through the murders of Remus Lupin and his own death. Destroyed by the hand of Albus Dumbledore, through the actions of Vernon Dursley. Even in the peace of death, she is nothing. Hope is in her name, yet she knows it not."

She made no motion, a broken lack of response, from a broken weapon. Even in death, she's little better than Alice and Frank Longbottom. I reach out and touch her arm. She finally reacts, turns and looks at me.

"I am truly sorry, Jessica. Peace be unto you."

She nods. It's a slow, specific nod. She has no tears left. I release her, letting her fade away, back into death where she belongs. Maybe she'll find peace, or happiness, or something there. Hopefully.

"You witnessed her end. You witnessed the reasons for her end, and you know how she arrived there. I want to end this, Albus. Fetch Quirrell."

Albus stares at me, eyebrows furrowed, until they disappear in his silver hairline.

"He is…"

"Here. Yes. Your worthless gambit with the stone drew that monster here. Now fetch him, Albus. The end of the prophecy is nigh," I inform him, rather melodramatically. After all, aren't prophecies melodrama?

I remove myself from the desk, taking up station by the door, as Albus sends a patronus messenger.

Even that much work makes his breathing heavier.

Am I horrible, for ensuring he is not long for this world?

I was never one for philosophy. Instead, I stand and wait. James and Lily are still bound, and Albus is breathing his last from behind his desk. I hear the gargoyle, and Quirrell stumbling up the steps, through the door. He arrives, and looks about.

There's an enchantment on the turban, to keep it in place, and to prevent it from being transfigured.

With a twist of my finger and a wave of my wand, a squirrel drops to the floor. The twisted and ugly face of Voldemort stares back at me.

"Hello, Tom."

The face sneers, even uglier and noseless than before.

"Who are you! Who are you to dare such offense against me?"

"Someone sane and whole. _Bite him_."

The squirrel's fangs glint with venom as they stab into Quirrell's ankle. I never checked how venomous they are, but I can make a healthy assumption from how the sheep died.

Quirrell screams in pain as his leg gives out.

"You've got between three and five minutes, Tom. If it makes either of you feel better, Albus will follow you to the here-after soon enough."

"Who are you!" screeches Tom, unaffected by the heady supply of neurotoxins from the squirrel. Rather disturbing, if you ask me. I suppose that's why basilisks aren't used for making wands, though. Quirrell's ability to scream in pain is already being constricted as the neurotoxin spreads through his body. I revise my estimate to between two and three minutes. His breaths are already short gasps, the pupils' of his eyes mere pin-pricks, and I cast a spell on his pants to vanish whatever his bowels release. Nobody needs to smell that.

"Your executioner, Tom. Your years haven't been kind. I figured I'd put you out of your misery."

"You think you can kill me, girl? You think destroying this body will be my end?"

"Given the trinkets on the desk, you helpless little bastard? Yes. Yes, I do."

"Trinkets?"

I levitate Quirrell's body, mucus and drool seeping from his face, as he makes tiny gasps of breath, fighting the poison coursing through his veins. I honestly doubt a bezoar could have saved him.

"Albus, what do you call it? The next great adventure? Tom, I leave you to yours."

I drop the bastard on the ground as the spasms begin. There's a series of rather sickening twisting and crunching sounds as his muscles convulse, shattering any number of bones in his body, and snapping his own neck. It takes four minutes for Quirrell to stop twitching, and the black mist seeps from the corpse, disappearing with a final scream of agony and misery.

"Was that worth it?" asks Albus, his blackened hand resting on the desk. "Was it really worth it to kill him in such a manner? To torture and murder him like that?"

"Not really," I reply. "He's done unspeakable things. Performed unspeakable crimes. Truly, he deserved worse, but I would rather have him dead now, than allow him a chance at returning. The murders and destruction I have just prevented outweigh any cost paid with his death."

Albus breathed a long sigh.

"Will you release the Potters?"

"No. They deserve, as much as anyone else you've ruined, to watch your end. James, Lily, it's been an unfortunate mess to meet you. I'm very sorry for your loss, and I'm even sorrier I couldn't save her."

As much as I want to meet them, to say hi, how are you, I used to be your son but I'm now the daughter I just said was dead… I don't. I don't want to. I've lived without them, and I'll continue to live without them. Let them have their clean break, let them have their clean death. This was how it happened, this is whose fault it was, and that's the end of it.

I slam the sword into the final journal on the desk. It doesn't scream, so much as give a long, miserable sigh. There's pain in Albus' face, and his own long, final sigh. The old man releases his last breath, and his entire body droops. His heart gives out, and his strings are cut.

I wait a minute, and then draw the sword back out of the diary. I sweep everything into a bag, and quickly test Dumbledore's wand.

"Fuck," I mutter out loud as I feel the connection. I am the wand's master. Damn it. I put it back in Albus' hands, and then walk back to the window.

"Again, I do apologize for being unable to save your daughter." The guilt slips through for a moment, my "saving people thing." I squash it quickly. What else can I say? I give them one last look, before dropping out the window and cancelling the binding spell.

"You should have used a disguise," says Hedwig as I land by the forbidden forest, the mist curling away from my body. James and Lily are both watching me from out the window.

"Quiet, you," I reply, disappearing into the forest.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**Power he knows not? Venomous Squirrels. I have entirely reasonable beliefs as to how questionable my sanity is, yes yes.

Also? You were warned it was going to be quick.

That doesn't mean this is over. After all, this is about Jamie getting her life back together again, not about killing Voldemort. And for those of you who automatically think it was too easy... it was. Because it was supposed to be. It's everything else that's important.


	4. Chapter the 3rd: Get a Job You Lazy Bum!

Disclaimer: I'm going to keep laughing if you keep thinking I own Harry Potter.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Third – Get a Job You Lazy Bum!**

0x0x0x0

The letter in my hands hurts, in more ways than I care to think on. The goblins have an automated process for this sort of thing, so they don't even know who I am. James cast Jessica, and by extension me, out of the Potter Family. By blood. And there is no re-entrance.

Safety measure, I suppose. Hedwig comforts me, even as I don't cry. I can't cry, I've found.

Still, I can rationalize it. It's an old pureblood protective measure. There are… things that can be done with the body. Polyjuice potion is only the start. Necromancy is a disgusting subject, especially in conjunction with possession. It's actually easier to possess a corpse than it is a live person. On the other hand, possessing a live person gives a layer of protection to the possessor. I'm guessing that was the reason Voldemort possessed a living Quirrell, rather than a dead one. A dead Quirrell would have been Riddle, and Albus knew Riddle quiet well. Riddle knew Quirrell would be under suspicion no matter what, but Albus would've been less suspicious of a strange-acting man, rather than Riddle himself.

I'm rambling.

James just wants to protect his family, any way he can. If he has to disown his dead daughter, then so be it.

Knowing it doesn't make the situation hurt any less though.

The rational part of my mind wonders if I can lay claim to the Gaunt family. Something to discuss with the Goblins, I suppose. Later, though. Or maybe never. Probably never, actually.

I found Griphook, and handed back the sword with its scroll of deeds. He looks it over.

"You've put it to use, I see. Couldn't get Godric's sword?"

"Nope. I tried, I'll tell you that much, but its guardian refused me."

Griphook nodded.

"Where is it guarded?"

"It is within the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, waiting to be called upon by one who is worthy of defending the school. I wasn't defending the school at the time, so the hat deemed it unnecessary."

At this, Griphook nodded, thanked me for the information, and we both went on our way. Me, back to my house, and him to file the paperwork that says I actually am related to Lily Evans-Potter.

It's probably a little vindictive of me, but I make no mention at all of the hat actually summoning the sword right back if it gets lost. Then again, I remember the little fuck trying to kill me in the depths of the bank. Not quite an even trade, but I'm not about to declare war on the goblins.

0x0x0x0

I am bleeding from my crotch.

Huh.

I'd noticed some abdominal pain throughout the day, but hadn't been paying much attention to it. I only realized it when I took a shower and noticed. I use a charm I stole from Bella to clean the blood out of my laundry, and then enchant my boxers to vanish my… my menses.

My fist does a surprising amount of damage to the tiles on the wall, and then there's always that little bit of wonder in my mind as the shatter chunks of tile leap up from the floor, returning themselves into wall.

I blame Dumbledore. I'm doing that a lot lately, but generally it's his fault.

And that's it, I'm done with it. There's nothing to be done.

I spent a while with a Veela brothel back when I was Harry. Not as a client, but as an… employee. It turns out that in some of the high-end brothels, men who can resist the allure are sought after. Not as clients, but as men to help the Veela themselves… well… relax, I guess; someone male to talk to, someone who doesn't fall over themselves at their mere sight of them, and who's willing to spend the night every once in a while.

It was a strange and interesting paycheck, and the matron was a good friend.

But the things I learned there… well, the most important one for my situation is this. There's no potion or ritual or anything else to change your gender. You are as you are born. You can work, you can beat and mould and try to reshape yourself, but there's nothing to be well and truly done with what's actually between your legs.

I also learned that Polyjuice potion has some very strange results when using the hair of a Veela, but that's neither here nor there.

Once more, I have the short end of the stick. Once more, I must adapt.

So I do.

Life goes on.

0x0x0x0

Tonks catches me the first time I'm in the Leaky Cauldron. I feel like shit, but I'm pretty sure I don't look the part, as well. At least I don't drink anymore.

Tonks, of course, disabuses me of that notion.

"Wotcher Jamie, you alright?"

"Long couple of days," I reply.

"No kidding," she says, looking at the paper. Dumbledore's death is front page news. The Potters spun the story into Quirrell attempting to murder Dumbledore, with the plan backfiring... somehow. A combination of a dark, withering curse, and attempting a poisoning by snake if that failed. They were still looking for the snake, though. There were also rumours about something being hidden in the third floor corridor, but nothing came of it.

The alley itself is shell-shocked. People walk around in a daze, in endless waves of black robes and funeral veils. I may have been nice enough to send a letter to Rita Skeeter, informing her I'd squash her like a bug if she printed her book. I may hate the man, but I respect him for the choices he made. Let him be a hero.

"Who'd they replace the defence teacher with?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Oh, James Potter grabbed my uncle Sirius to teach. They haven't even figured out who's going to be Headmaster yet."

I consider, for a long moment, Severus Snape and Sirius Black on the staff of Hogwarts. I decide to try not to think about it, and instead focus on the muggle world instead. I know people in this world, but most of them are dead.

"You know," continues Tonks, "Uncle Sirius said Minerva would take the position if they could find a good master of transfiguration. You said you were planning on getting your mastery once you had a wand, right? And you were also interested in teaching, too, yeah?"

Oh, fuck. I have no way of arguing out of this. She's going to make me get an interview, and then I'm going to have to deal with the Potters. Fuck me in half! I wanted some damn peace and quiet. Hell, I wanted to live in my bloody house. Well, I suppose it makes it easier that I'm no longer a Potter.

"Alright, I'll slap together a resume," I say with Ill concealed resignation.

"No need! I'll just talk with my uncle Sirius, he says he can get an interview tonight!"

Fuck.

0x0x0x0

I use some charms I learned from Bellatrix to make my hair somewhat curly, but tame. I'm thankful, once more, for possessing her, and having the presence of mind to ransack her brain for… feminine needs spells. And, well, information on female puberty itself. I know I tuned out Hermione a fair amount if she ever talked about her monthly visitor. Ron and I didn't need to hear it, but I at least stayed around for it.

The interview itself will be a cakewalk, especially since I don't want the job. Still… It's Minerva. I know her. I dress well, and prepare to show my best. Maybe I can get the job a few years from now.

"Lord Black, I presume?" I ask the tall, lean man waiting at the Three Broomsticks. His face is lit up with a jovial smile as he finishes chatting with Rosemerta, while his dark eyes appraise me.

"I am indeed Lord Black. Although please, feel free to call me Sirius. You must be Jamie Evans?"

"Right in one," I reply, and shake his hand.

"So tell me about yourself," he says, leading me up to the castle.

"There isn't much to tell," I reply.

"I'm sure there is. How does a muggleborn girl who looks fourteen become a Warlock for slaying a basilisk?"

"Unfortunately prodigious skill, and a want to leave behind her past," I reply. "The goblins, at least, tell me I'm eighteen."

"And how old are you really?" asks Sirius.

"That'd be telling," I reply with a smile.

"I can see why my niece likes you so much."

"She's an adventure and a half, and that's only talking with her at lunch."

"So what do you think of her?"

"She's nice, sweet. I'd hope to give her some help in fighting tricks and techniques, but with teaching I worry I won't have a chance to."

Sirius nods. I wonder if something else is going on, but I don't worry about it. Instead, I worry about what Minerva will think of me. I'm not one of her Gryffindors anymore. Instead, I'm an outsider, an interloper with no past, and no history to be judged upon. The entirety of our conversation will be the entirety of our meeting.

Really, it's the reason I doubt I'll get the job.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'll find excuses to visit you when you get the job."

"If I get the job," I reply.

"True," replies Sirius. "I don't think very many people are applying for the post, though. I know my friend James is thinking about it, but… he's trying not to. For personal reasons."

"Like his son?" I ask, giving him a way out.

"Sure, let's say it's his son," says Sirius. I'm sure Severus threatened to quit if James was hired for Transfiguration. I know Lily was good with potions, but I have no idea what masteries she's gotten. From the reading I've done, it's not likely very many. Then again, the Wizarding World is as backwards as it comes. Who knows what she's done with her life?

Either way, Sirius leads me up to an office near the Transfiguration classroom, and it takes everything in me to not ask why we're not headed for the Headmaster's office. The Slytherin side of me puts together more than a few reasons, but I brush them all aside.

"Minerva! I've brought you a victim!" says Sirius, all smiles.

"Mister Black, I would appreciate it if you didn't attempt to frighten all of the applicants."

"I only want what's best of the school, Minerva," replies Sirius. I can tell he's loving being able to address her by her first name.

"Go, Mister Black. Perhaps you should get your classroom in order?"

Sirius rolls his eyes, and leaves, while I enter the office itself.

"And you would be Miss Evans?" asks Minerva.

"That's correct," I reply. "Professor McGonagall, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Tonks has said a fair amount about you."

"Indeed? I'm not surprised. Please, take a seat. I'm curious as to why you applied."

"I'm afraid I didn't have a choice. I mentioned to Miss Tonks I was interested in getting my Mastery in Transfiguration, and also in muggle teaching a week or two ago. Thus, she convinced me I needed to apply for the job, even though I don't have my Mastery yet."

"When were you planning on getting it?" asks Minerva.

"Later this month. I've got a good handle on this wand, now, and I needed to file the paperwork with the ministry and the guild. It might be a little difficult without an O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration, but I could just take those, as well."

"Why didn't you take the test when you took them for Charms, Potions, and Defence?"

"Because I didn't have a wand at the time, and I'm worthless at Transfiguration without one."

Minerva is silent on this. She clearly wants to ask me how I managed to pass, let alone get an O on my N.E.W.T. subjects without a wand. She is ever the professional, however, and instead keeps the interview on topic.

"I presume with a wand, you consider yourself capable of getting a Mastery?"

"That is correct."

She starts asking me questions about Transfiguration Theory. I know most of it by heart, and try not to mention a few of the theories that have appeared in years yet to occur. Then she leads me into the N.E.W.T.-level classroom, an open space with more than a few objects scattered around it, and asks for demonstrations. She starts basic, object-to-object. I keep things plain and simple, sticking to details like texture and definition, rather than something opulent and ornate. She approves. Then comes living-to-living, when she brings out some sparrows, and she's impressed by the liger, especially in the quality of the fur.

We discuss the abilities and drawbacks of my wand. I consider it for a long moment, before deciding to be honest about being a Parselmouth.

"One odd thing I've found..." I start.

"Yes?" asks the Professor, realising I'm uncomfortable with what I'm about to say.

"My wand's core is a basilisk fang, and I'm a Parselmouth. I've found that all of the animals I transfigure with it are, likewise, Parselmouths."

Minerva stares at me for a long moment.

"Do you know who your parents are, Miss Evans?"

"I do. I am not at liberty to say who they are, however."

"Why not?"

"I was cast out of the family by blood, Professor. I cannot speak of my family, for I have none." Not entirely true, but close enough for government work.

Minerva nods curtly, and considers me for a long moment. I wonder what she... oh, fuck. I think I know who she's thinking of. The slightly curly black hair, the fine bone structure, the absurd levels of self-confidence, all rolled in with speaking Parseltongue? Add the fact that I took Lily's name... well. That'd just be insult to injury, wouldn't it? Well, I'll let her think it. The least it'll do is make sure I don't get the job, right?

"Is that the reason you've claimed yourself a muggleborn, Miss Evans? To distance yourself from your former family?"

"No. It was to distance myself from the Wizarding World entirely," I reply, straight faced and honest. I know her well enough that she doesn't believe a word of it, and there's nothing I can say that'll change that. "I wanted to avoid it, for the most part, for a little while. Get away from it for a while, as it were."

She nods in understanding.

"I do believe Albus would be all about giving second chances, Miss Evans. After what I've seen today, I will be submitting my memory of this interview to the Ministry and the Guild for your Mastery. I have no doubt you will receive it, and as such, I welcome you to the staff of Hogwarts. You start Monday."

FUCK!

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I maintain my composure, thank her, and for the first time in twenty years, really, _really_ want to drink.

0x0x0x0

"Congratulations!" says Tonks, smiling.

I grunt in acknowledgment, reading the Quibbler to take my brain off the lessons plans I'm reading. I'm making notes of what I'd do different, but I'll follow hers in my first year. Get a year under my belt before I decide what truly needs to be changed.

"What? Didn't you say you wanted to teach?" asked Tonks.

"Yes, but I didn't want the most prestigious subject at one of the most prestigious schools in Europe as my first job! I wanted a nice easy job to figure out what I'm doing, _then_ go for the hard stuff!" I sigh.

"Oh," says Tonks, crestfallen and guilty.

"Sorry, I just didn't actually expect to get the job. I shouldn't be surprised, really. It's not the first time I've been thrown into the deep-end and told to swim from the piranha. You said you wanted to see my place, right? Come on." I get up, leave a few coins for Tom, and start heading for the fireplace.

"Really?" she asks, following me.

"Evans' Roost," I say, tossing in the floo powder. The wards ask if I want to allow her, and I say yes. Tonks smiles as she looks around the house. I've mostly been buying furniture and artwork, but the entire second floor is still empty.

"Not bad, for buying it a month ago. A lot of empty shelves, though," she comments.

"Not a lot of books, yet," I reply, leading her out into the yard. "No garden either, and with me at Hogwarts, I'm going to keep it as a clean lawn for now."

Hedwig flies out, and lands on the short grass, a mouse tail hanging out of her mouth.

"Ah, is that a Harpy?" asks Tonks.

"Hedwig, this is Tonks. Tonks, Hedwig. Introductions over, wand out; show me some drills, Auror-Trainee Tonks."

0x0x0x0

I manage to get Tonks home a few hours later via side-along. I wasn't about to trust her crashing through the floo, and instead meet her parents at their place. They quickly force me to stay for dinner, and share a strange look at their overly-tired daughter.

"Tonks, wake up, you're about to eat dinner," I tell her.

"No more," mumbles Tonks, half-asleep. "Can't take anymore."

"We're all done, Tonks. You've escaped my clutches. Now it's time to eat dinner."

"Lemme' sleep."

Her parents are definitely amused by this, and chime in.

"Dora, dear, it's time for dinner."

"Fine," Tonks mumbles, and a second later blitzes awake from the couch. She's muttering and swearing under her breath, and her face is a bright tomato red. Andromeda is giggling like a school girl, while Ted is whistling innocently as we all gather for dinner.

"So what were you up to, all day?"

"I've been anxious about getting a teaching job at Hogwarts, and Tonks gave me a good outlet."

"Remind me to never let you do that, ever again."

"I thought you kept up pretty well in the beginning."

"Maybe the first fifteen minutes! You kept going for another three hours!"

"You have to push past limits," I reply, while her parents are, for lack of a better word, a mixture of aghast (Ted) and amused (Andi)

"What?" I ask.

"Three hours?"

"Yes, I normally train for casting and transfiguration for three hours. Hell, when I first got my wand, I was practicing with it all day long."

Andromeda looks a little sad, Ted looks happy, and Tonks looks even more embarrassed. I'm just confused, myself.

They ask me the expected questions about teaching at Hogwarts.

"Oh, I know I can do it. It's just that I have big shoes to fill. Minerva McGonagall, and Albus Dumbledore before her? There's an expectation. I can either meet that expectation, or I can look for a new job."

I feel like I'm in an actual muggle job interview as Andromeda grills me about what I plan on doing.

"Obviously I'm going to stick with Minerva's lesson plans. I'm not going to rebuild seven years of lesson plans over a weekend. I'll likely modify it a little over the year, but if I still have the job next year, then I'll definitely start changing the lesson plans."

"You really think you can do this?" asks Tonks, finally realising just how much trouble she may or may not have gotten me into.

"I wouldn't have applied if I didn't think I could do it."

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**Harry Potter's life is a Comedy of Errors. He wants to leave the magical world? Hah, fuck you, you're going to teach at Hogwarts. And also the Veela Brothel. Because, let's face it, only Harry could do that sort of thing.

Next chapter: Hogwarts. And the Potters. There's no escape from the Potters.


	5. Chapter the 4th: Welcome to Classes

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't be publishing this on FFNet

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Fourth – Welcome to Classes**

0x0x0x0s

First class of the year is Monday morning, Seventh Year N.E.W.T. transfiguration. Minerva's at the back of the class, disillusioned. This will be one of my most difficult classes, and she didn't mention to me that she'd be watching my first class. It'll be difficult because I'm supposedly younger than two of my students. I have to command their respect as a teacher, as a mentor, but I'm physically younger than all of them.

Thus, a demonstration.

I'm standing at the front of the classroom, eating an apple, waiting for the final two students to arrive.

"Oh, good, you're all here," I say, holding the apple core in my left hand. "Here" is the N.E.W.T.-level Transfiguration classroom, a nice, wide-open room for changing large things into equally large things. I flick the apple core, point my wand at it, and a magnificent griffon is standing at the front of the class. It gives an equally magnificent screech, before padding its way to the back of the class, past all the students, and taking a seat next to Minerva.

"Welcome to Seventh Year Transfiguration. I am Professor Evans. You will refer to me as Professor, as I will refer to you as Mister or Miss, then your surname. My goal for you this year is large scale transfiguration, such as what you just witnessed, or such as this," I point my wand, turning a nearby desk into a flock of birds that quickly take roost in the rafters alongside Hedwig. "Or this," I point my wand at a rather large trunk, and change it into a single, lone white ferret that stays precisely where it is.

I give a negligent wave of my wand, and the class syllabus duplicates itself from my desk, and flies onto all of theirs.

"For those of you who like to study ahead, this is the syllabus for this year. While I will not expect quite as fantastical work as I perform, it will be appreciated. Let's begin with some of the theory behind this, and then start in on the practical."

0x0x0x0

Once they all file out I wave my wand, returning everything, including a rather confused bear, to their original forms.

"So how'd I do, Professor?" I ask

She drops her disillusionment charm, only somewhat surprised I noticed her.

"How quickly did you see me?"

"As soon as I walked in. So really, how did I do?"

"I was impressed. You took charge of the classroom quickly and skilfully, and presented the material in a competent way."

I nod, taking what I can get from her.

"A little light on theory, I know, but I've always preferred practical skills to theoretical knowledge. I'll make sure they understand what they're doing, and what dangers they can run into before letting them do anything."

"Very good, Professor Evans."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."

We both walk to the Great Hall for Lunch. As soon as I enter, a number of eyes are on me. I can already tell the gossip mill is churning out rumours left and right, just like I expected. I sit next to McGonagall, remaining largely quiet through a conversation between her and Sirius Black. I scan the students, and spot Malfoy, Weasley, Granger, all where they should be. I notice Harry at the Gryffindor table, chatting with one of the other second years... Devin Conway, was it? Him and a few of the other students.

With Voldemort gone, I don't have to worry about Hermione getting killed by a troll, but... huh. I do have to worry about her leaving, because she doesn't have any friends. I mean, yes, Magic is wonderful and everything, but... why stay, if she doesn't have any friends? Why bother, when even fewer people like her?

Thinking back on old Slughorn gives me an idea. And, also, some ideas for more lessons for interested students. Right now, I need to get into the habit of things, before adding more onto my plate.

I make my way through the rest of the week, with only two more interesting classes of note. One of them, of course, is the second year Gryffindors.

It seems this Harry has the same taste in friends that I had, as Devin Conway attempts to fall asleep halfway through my class. Hedwig informs me, and voices my displeasure by landing on him and digging her claws into his back.

He jumps, screams, while Hedwig flies up to my arm.

"Thank you, dear," I tell her.

"You're welcome." She flaps back up into the rafters of the room.

"What the bloody hell?" asks Devin, while Harry is smirking.

"Mister Conway. Classrooms are for learning. Dorms are for sleeping. Please remember this distinction if you wish to continue in my class. Miss O'Malley?"

"Professor, what was that white bird?"

Hedwig lands on my shoulders.

"Class, this is Hedwig. Hedwig is my familiar. Say hello, class."

"Hello, Hedwig," says a chorus of small children.

"Hello, class," says Hedwig. "Be good, because I'll be keeping an extra eye on you for Professor Evans, alright?"

They're all pretty surprised by Hedwig talking back. She jumps over to the desk, and a quick burst of magic gets them paying attention to my lecture. The legality of Hedwig is an interesting legal grey area. I'm a registered Warlock, which means I'm sort of expected to have a weird creature as a side-kick. On the other hand, she was a post owl, and that falls under magic creature breeding laws... maybe. Tack on the fact she's sentient, and it becomes a legal quagmire that'd take a few years to sort out.

Finally I get to the class of first years.

According to Hedwig, Minerva's back, and she's under an invisibility cloak. After a few wandless spells I can guess that it's the Potter family cloak. I ignore it, and change into my wolf animagus transformation, and sit on a nice ottoman I conjured. I can smell Minerva's smirk of amusement, as I watch the various students take their seats. I recognize each and every one, Hermione Granger and the other Ravenclaws up front, all the 'Puffs in the middle, Slytherins are a mixture of up front and back and to the left, while the Gryffindors take up back and to the right.

Harry isn't in this year, but Ron still manages to walk in five minutes late.

I growl at him as he sits down. Jumping off the ottoman I give them all a fright as I change into their Professor.

"I am Professor Evans, and I will teach you Transfiguration. Transfiguration will be some of the most difficult, dangerous, and rewarding magic you will ever learn. Allow me to repeat that, because it is important. Difficult. Dangerous. Rewarding."

"First and foremost, Transfiguration is changing something into something else." I tap my wand against my desk, changing it into a rhino for effect. It snorts with derision as Hedwig lands on its back. "Transfiguration, as magic, is visualization. That's a long word, but to sum it up better, what you see in your mind is what you'll get out of your wand. I wanted a rhino, I got a rhino. If I want an elephant," I tap the rhino and it changes into a full-size African bull elephant. "I get an elephant." It trumpets for effect. I cancel it all, getting back my desk.

"We won't be starting with rhinos and elephants. Instead, we'll begin with something small and simple."

I had to refresh my memory for the correct wand motions and incantation, but now I've got a bunch of eleven-year-olds waving their wands and chanting in bad Latin at matchsticks. I walk amongst the students, helping their pronunciation and correcting wand movements as I go. Hermione is still the first that gets it, but a few of the other kids start getting silver matchsticks as well. A bit better than my first lesson, but I don't recall McGonagall going around correcting pronunciation as much as I did.

"So, how did I do?" I ask once the students have filed out.

She tries to play dumb.

"Professor, don't make me change back into a wolf and mark you. That seems to be a very nice cloak if I couldn't detect you."

"And just how did you see me this time, Miss Evans?"

"I used to be a post owl, ma'am. I have excellent hearing," says Hedwig.

McGonagall nods, considering me carefully.

"It is not often a familiar changes so much from such a bond, Professor Evans."

"She cares very much about me, Professor McGonagall," says Hedwig.

"Consider your job kept, at least until we see the grades at the end of the year, Miss Evans."

"Of course."

I wonder how long until Sybill loses her job?

0x0x0x0

The one thing I can't stand about the job is how many papers I have to correct. Mind you, I have no-one to fault but myself... still. I'm sorting through forty pieces of parchment. Normally, I'd have Hedwig help, but she's off delivering a letter to Tonks for me.

Naturally, my fireplace turns green, and a head pokes out.

"Jamie, you there?"

"Just correcting papers. Come on through, Tonks."

Tonks steps through with Hedwig perched on her shoulders. Both of them shake off the dust, Hedwig landing on the desk to investigate whichever essay I'm looking at.

"Hermione?" asks Hedwig.

"Yeah," I say, setting aside the two feet of parchment. "I'm tempted to just start marking hers O without reading them. So how are you, Tonks?"

"Pretty good. Missed you, this week."

"Missed you, too. Believe me, all the munchkins can't make up for some good conversation. Have you been practicing like I told you, too?"

"Do you always think about teaching?" asks Tonks.

"I like my friends to be able to protect themselves. It's a bit of a habit."

Tonks nods, looking a little sad about something. I decide to drive home on that for a little bit.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"So what'd you want to do? Head down to Hogsmeade and get some lunch?"

"Sure, that'd be good."

"Come on, then. I'll buy, seeing as how I'm gainfully employed thanks to you."

I'd not be the first to admit Tonks is a nice girl. She has a lot of energy, a lot of softness that I remember Andromeda saying the war stole from her. It's nice to talk with a wizard who doesn't gush about who I am, who doesn't have that shared look of pain and horror that I have. Towards the end, even if I wanted to, I couldn't go amongst the muggles. Too many scars, and a strange limb. That, and with the ever growing pace of technology, the "Implements of Paranoia" I carried on my person caused more and more problems with the technology around me.

To be honest with myself, Tonks is a nice girl. I could fall for her, maybe. Knowing Remus is dead, knowing I'd never hold my Godson. Except, well, it's pretty obvious she doesn't swing my way, now isn't it? The joys of being a man trapped in a woman's body.

I'd drink, but I swore off the stuff a long time ago.

So, instead, I'm going to Hogsmeade to be the friend of a pretty bird.

0x0x0x0

"You will reverse your punishment, Evans," grumbles Severus Snape at the staff meeting. Third week in, and I'm already butting heads with him.

"No."

"As his head of house, I will deal with him."

"No," I reply. "He called one of his fellow students a mudblood in my class, and he will serve his detention with me this Saturday. I don't care if he's in your house, he will serve his punishment with me."

Severus is grumbling under his breath, while Sirius is smirking. McGonagall has her usual stern look.

"And just what will Mister Malfoy being doing during your detention?" asks McGonagall.

"He will be writing an essay comparing grade performance of muggleborn versus pureblood children. If he wishes to claim muggleborn are ignorant and stupid, he will attempt to back it up with facts."

Hermione actually wrote this paper as an extra-credit project to turn into Snape. Snape wasn't overly concerned with the facts… except it was later found in one of his desk drawers. I'd like to think me and Hermione were among his favourites, even if he never admitted it to anyone except Albus.

Sirius snorts with derision at this proclamation, while Flitwick and Sprout are both amused by my detention.

"I think that is an acceptable detention, Professor Evans. The punishment stands."

The rest of the staff meeting is pretty boring. I recall the conversation I had with Hermione, after Draco's "ignorant and stupid mudblood" comment to her.

"Miss Granger, as you might have guessed, there's a fair amount of prejudice in the magical world."

"I… I have," she replied, not looking up from my desk.

"Miss Granger, before I took this job, I was considering getting a job teaching in the muggle school system. If you wish for any help or tutoring for taking your GCSEs, you need only ask."

"You wanted to get a job teaching muggles?" she asked, surprised.

"I've wanted to be a teacher for a long time, Miss Granger. That I got this job was amazing luck on my part, and I will not waste it. But if you do decide the magical world isn't for you, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're prepared for the muggle one."

"Th-thank you, Professor."

"Remember, my office door is always open, Miss Granger. Come by this Friday afternoon, I want to talk with you about something when you have some free time."

"Of course, Professor. Again, thank you very much."

"Was there anything else?" asks McGonagall, bringing me back to the meeting. With that, the staff meeting breaks up. Sirius immediately tries chatting me up. He's an incorrigible flirt, and I'm more embarrassed than amused when he flirts with me. He's lightened up quite a bit, but I think he wants to loosen me up, some.

"I'm liking your punishment for Draco. I'd hate to be a bad student in your class."

"I think I'd hate to have you as a student," I reply.

He guffaws at this, but continues unabated.

"Well, I'm meeting with Andromeda and Ted this Saturday for dinner, and I believe they're dragging Miss Tonks along. How about you come along, eh?"

"Well, if Malfoy doesn't finish his essay by the time we need to leave, I suppose I can just make him continue work on Sunday," I say, considering this.

"That's the spirit!" says Sirius. "Just stop by my office, and we'll floo down to the Three Broomsticks, alright?"

I nod, thinking about Tonks. I haven't been seeing her as much, but we've been meeting for dinner on and off, when I don't have nightly patrols with the prefects. I've taken her to the Three Broomsticks once or twice, but I've also been hunting down good muggle restaurants in the "area." I'll have to speak with Ted about Tonks never having eaten pizza. Not quite as good as American pizza, but I'll save trans-Atlantic portkeys for special occasions.

**0x0x0x0**

Friday afternoon with Miss Granger is an educational experience for her; namely in how to drink tea, how to teach, and how to tutor.

It goes pretty well. I teach her the formal rules for pureblooded ladies drinking tea (she learns it out of sheer curiosity), and intermix it with questions about explaining transfiguration concepts. She realised what I was asking her for when I said, "Right, you and I would understand that explanation, but what about someone who hasn't read the book? Or, worse yet, has but doesn't understand it? There's been a lot of research by muggles into how children learn best. Some learn by having it explained to them, some learn by reading it, some learn by watching someone else do it, and some learn by just doing it."

Hermione has this sudden revelation, and she has this glazed look over her eyes as she considers everything she's ever done with people.

"I've been driving people away by talking like that, haven't I?"

"Probably," I reply. "I was planning on having tea with some of the other students, something similar to this. Would you like to come?"

"I think I'd like that."

I hadn't spent a long time thinking about this very topic. No, not at all.

**0x0x0x0**

Saturday morning, quarter past ten. It seems Mister Malfoy believes he doesn't need to come to my detention. It is time to make an example of him, I feel.

I once spent a weekend bender trying to understand the Marauder's Map, and how it worked. There were two parts to it. First was fairly straightforward, mapping the castle. Second was a bit more insidious, and I came to suspect Remus played a large part in it. The map is tied into the castle wards. Apparently, about two hundred years ago, one of the Headmasters had the bright idea of having Hogwarts herself keep track of attendance, rather than the teachers, so identifier wards were added. However nobody could figure out how to actually input the schedules for each student, and nobody wanted to tear out the identifier ward itself, for fear of damaging all the other ones. The map uses this identifier ward, because nobody bothered with locking it down.

Thus, the white slate I'm holding in my hands. Part of the joy of making the rounds is adding locations to the map. I've added quite the number of secret passages, and have been working on finding all the ones in Parseltongue. Slytherin, it seems, liked to be able to sneak into places. I haven't had a chance to explore the tunnels from the Chamber of Secrets, but I've got all year.

"Mister Malfoy," I say at half-past ten.

"Go 'way," he mumbles, turning over in bed.

I wave my hand, and the covers are ripped off the bed, the bed itself is overturned, and Malfoy is spilled onto the (cushioning charmed) floor.

"I dislike repeating myself, Mister Malfoy," I say, adding a silencing charm so I don't have to listen to him whine. "I stated you had a detention at ten this morning. It is now half past ten. Get dressed."

Draco starts screaming at me, and I give him a minute to realise he's been silenced.

"You have five minutes to get dressed. If you are not, I will be taking you as you are dressed." I make a note of setting a muggle watch. I conjured it just to annoy him.

He then spends the next five minutes, glaring at me, dressed in silk pyjamas. Green and silver. Unsurprising.

My watch beeps. I levitate him, and he attempts to yell at me some more as I take him from the Slytherin Dorms. Severus Snape stalks up to me as I leave, but I refuse to actually stop moving forward.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks, sneering at me, as we start up the steps out of the dungeons.

"Mister Malfoy is late for his detention. I woke him, and gave him five minutes to get dressed. He decided, instead, to do nothing."

Severus considers this, as he follows me through the halls to my classroom. I drop Malfoy into his usual seat.

"Mister Malfoy, the books in front of you are grade records for the last fifty years. If you do not finish your essay today, I will see you tomorrow. I will allow you to leave for lunch at the appropriate time, but you will return. Do you have any questions?"

He speaks for a minute, before realising I haven't released the silencing charm. He then raises his hand. I undo the charm, and nod at him.

"When my fath-"

"Your questions needed to be related to your detention, Mister Malfoy. I have dealt with greater and more terrible wizards than a Malfoy. Your father does not concern me. Professor Snape, I believe the Headmistress already stated his punishment stood as it was, and he should consider himself lucky I don't extend it given I had to retrieve him. Was there anything else?"

He considers me for a long moment.

"A prefect will be by with more appropriate garb for Mister Malfoy," says Severus, before stalking right back out.

I take a seat at my desk, and grade papers, releasing the silencing spell on Draco for a few minutes.

"Mister Malfoy," I say, reading over an essay by one of the fourth years. "I should remind you that I will be keeping you here tomorrow if you don't finish that essay. I suggest you start work on it. If you have questions about how you should go about doing it, Hedwig or I will be more than happy to help you."

Malfoy grumbles something about stupid mudblood teachers and even stupider birds, but he realises defeat if Severus couldn't rescue him.

It's an hour of quiet scratching, the book unopened, before Malfoy hands me a foot of parchment.

"Mister Malfoy, I am not looking for unoriginal sayings," I say, looking over the essay. It's the usual blithering drivel of propaganda. "One of the first rules for answering a question, is to actually answer the question. I am looking for original research. I am looking for you to prove whether or not muggleborns are stupid via the grades in the book. If you can prove it, then you are right. If you cannot, then you are wrong. Sit down, and try again. Now, can I help you, Miss…?"

"Mrs. Potter," says Lily Potter. She walked in while I was ranting at Draco. "Can I speak with you in private?"

"Hedwig, keep an eye on Mister Malfoy, and if necessary, teach him statistics. Mrs. Potter, if you would adjourn to my office?"

"Of course," she says. I can tell she doesn't trust me in the slightest. Hell, I wouldn't trust me in the slightest either. She has collarless sleeves, and her wand is in a quick-draw holster.

"I do believe you're the first parent to stop by and ask questions about their child, so pardon me while I'm a little rough at what I'm supposed to say," I tell her, acting as nonchalant as possible for Draco, as we enter my office. I take a seat behind the desk, while she glances about. She stops at the massive skull of the basilisk, mounted on my wall. The teeth are all elephant ivory, and it took a long time to clean the skull enough to put it near people, but it makes an excellent conversation piece.

She manages to ignore it, though, and look straight at me. I don't think she entirely knows what to say, so I start the conversation for her.

"I'm surprised James isn't with you."

"I figured you wanted to keep your job," replied Lily. "Besides, Tonks said a number of good things about you. I wanted to see for myself."

I nod, openly thankful.

"I'm surprised my description wasn't in the paper."

"James and I… well… we talked, before we got anyone else. He doesn't like it, but, well… we were worried about Sirius."

I blink.

"He was Obliviated, wasn't he," I say.

"He was. We want to hold off on releasing any more of the story, for now."

"Sometimes, it's best for the little white lie," I reply. I feel very Dumbledore in saying it, too. "I hadn't really intended it to happen that way."

"And how did you intend for it to happen?" she asks.

"Well… just me and him, really. I just planned on confronting him about it, destroying the Horcruxes, and being on my way. It's just… he deserved it."

"I'm surprised you didn't wear a disguise."

I smile.

"I considered doing it while wearing a Darth Vader mask, actually, but I think Albus would have taken it the wrong way."

She gives a morbidly amused smile.

"You could have gone with a Guy Fawkes mask," says Lily.

That stops me for a moment.

"So you aren't here for revenge?" I ask, carefully.

"Memories are difficult things to edit, and even more difficult to do it well," she says. "Her death was…" Lily falls silent. It's clear she's still hurting, but she presses on. "It wasn't edited, but it wasn't… right."

The memory was clear. It was a death. It was ghostly, strange, but true. It had a sense of truth to it, a sense of horror and bewilderment, surrounded by the wings of someone caring and loving. To say it was both confusing and straightforward is an understatement. So I say something as close to the truth as possible.

"I… she needed to understand. After I took her from that place, she needed to understand, needed to comprehend that someone didn't want to hurt her, actually did care about her. There was no way to get through to her physically. She didn't give a single reaction from any physical touch or action, which surprised me. So I tried mental. I tried as little as possible, I really did, but…"

I stop, and take a moment to centre myself.

"Well, the results were obvious. It happens, with people like us. Someone shows they care, and they can't understand it. They can't accept it. And she was so fragile. So small and fragile, there wasn't anything I could do. There wasn't anything I could hold together, and try to keep."

I don't even realise Lily has come around the desk, until her hand is on my back. I can feel the warmth there, even as I fail to cry.

"Who are you?" she asks, quietly. "Who are you really?"

"I'm Jamie Evans, now, Mrs. Potter. There's nothing left but what I make."

She's quiet for a time.

"And your parents?"

"My father disowned me by blood," I say, the honest truth. "I never knew either of them."

We're both quiet for a time.

"Was there anything else I can help you with, Mrs. Potter?" I ask, trying to move the conversation to something else.

"What happened to Jessica's body?"

"Why?" I ask. "So you can give her an empty grave?"

Lily winces at that.

"We plan on it," says Lily. "Once Sirius' Obvilation is undone, she'll be given a grave. We'd prefer to have a body in it."

I blink at that.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Potter, but I cremated the body. The ashes were spread on a small plot behind my house, and I planted a holly tree on it, and there's a small marker."

It's a lie. A very large lie. The part about the holly tree and the marker is true, though. I did plant one in the backyard, specifically for her. I knew what wand would come into her hands.

She's quiet, silent as she sits down in the chair.

"Give me a moment," I say, and I wandlessly open my office door.

"Mister Malfoy! If you continue to insult my familiar, you will spend several of your upcoming evenings feeding Hagrid's thestrals!"

"Yes, Professor," says Draco, unsure of what I just threatened him with. The door closes, and I return to my conversation.

"We... we'd like to visit. Soon," she says, finally.

"Monday evening?" I ask.

"I'll have to ask James."

I nod.

"So how long will Sirius' Obliviation take to be removed?"

"You've met him. How long do you think? And why do you care so much?"

"So I have a rough estimation of when I need to leave the castle and find a new job."

"You're leaving?"

"Won't I have to?" I ask in reply.

On this, Lily is silent. Good. She doesn't trust me. She's taking this intelligently, so she avoids answering.

"He's started meditating, but he hasn't even found the missing parts of his memories. They're old, and Albus would have done a thorough job. It might be months before he really starts finding his memories."

"Good to know," I say.

Obliviations are tricky things, especially undoing them. Albus, as the castor, could have undone it easily, especially with the Elder Wand, but now that he's dead that avenue is closed. The added problem is that you can't tell the person what the Obliviation is. That guarantees that the person can't properly retrieve the memories. Memories are strange things: knowing the subject causes the brain to fill them in, rather than actually retrieve them. Thus, James and Lily can only state that Sirius was Obliviated, and when he was Obliviated, but can't state why or what the memories were. Add on the fact that it was done with the Elder Wand? It'll be a while. Maybe I'll finish out the year, maybe not.

"I wish him the best of luck. To lose memories like that... I'd murder whoever did it." I shake my head, thinking of James, and change the subject. I'm becoming too maudlin, Hogwarts brings back these kinds of memories. "Was there anything else, Mrs. Potter?"

"Just how is my son doing?" she asks. A question I can answer honestly and easily.

"Decently. His essays need work. I've been meaning to duplicate a few muggle textbooks on essay-writing for some of the pureblood students, just to let them choke on it. I'll have to ask one of my muggleborn students her thoughts on the matter. His practical work is very good, though. I presume he's received outside training?"

"He has a Ministry exemption," replies Lily. There's a kick in the pants if I ever felt one, and one more reason to piss on Dumbledore's grave. "James has been drilling him for the last few years."

"It shows. He's light on theory, at least for Transfiguration, but it's a difficult subject."

"James isn't always the best teacher. I understand you received your mastery?"

"It's required for the job. McGonagall decided to use my interview for the job as my interview for my mastery." I roll my eyes. "I really wasn't expecting to get the position at all. I was hoping I could just disappear amongst the muggles for a few years."

"Why?"

"What the hell did I have in the magical world? No parents, no family, and the stigma of being a muggleborn according to the Ministry. Hell, I might as well be, given that I'm disowned."

"Who were you disowned by?" she asks.

"I can't even say whose family I was once part of, Mrs. Potter. As a member of an ancient family, you should know that."

"You can't even…"

"It's to make sure I can't claim otherwise," I half-mutter, half-growl.

Lily nods.

"Did you even like them?"

"Who?"

"Whoever disowned you."

"Never met them," I replied. My head's running a mile a minute. If McGonagall said anything… then I have to keep to that story. Let it run its course. I am a Parselmouth, after all. "I was raised by some of my parents' relatives. They had… expectations that I either couldn't or didn't want to meet. Tried anyways, for all the good it did." Half-truths, but no lies, I have to wonder if she's seen pictures of Riddle at all.

The way Lily nods suggests she actually was told McGonagall's theory, or she's arrived at it herself.

"What was… what was Jessica like, when you knew her?" she finally asks.

"Broken. There was no other way to describe her. She was a machine, an automaton. She was largely catatonic, only reacting to orders. As soon as I… as soon as I dared to show her that I cared, she just… didn't believe it. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. She just tipped over and never got back up again. The light left, and... and I could feel the bitter chill of her soul leaving. Have you ever been around a Dementor when it's applying the kiss?"

Lily shudders.

"A yes, then. It was... she was like one of those bodies, afterwards. An empty, lifeless shell that hadn't figured out it was a corpse yet."

"I'm surprised you didn't kill us, as well," she says, following a moment of self-disgust.

"Tonks says Harry was a good kid, so I figured I'd give you the benefit of the doubt," I reply. "Dumbledore has his long history of mistakes, if anyone cared to look."

"Really? Such as?"

"Albus had a younger sister, Ariana. When she was six, a group of muggle boys attacked her, assaulting her because she could do magic, and she was a witch, and therefore, she was different. A freak, one might say." It was a low blow, I know. "So her father went out, found the three muggle boys, and killed them. He was sent to Azkaban. Ariana, however, never regained control of her magic. So they kept her at home, hoping she'd get better, but she never did. Soon enough after it happened, the Dumbledore family moved to Godric's Hollow, trying to leave behind the stigma that followed them."

"Albus was a bright young boy, who turned into a bright young man. But with his mother's death by Ariana's uncontrolled magic, he found himself trapped. He was supposed to go off and become a grand sorcerer. He was intelligent, powerful, and full of hope and promise. Instead, he was trapped at home, caring for a sister who was worse than a squib. A broken little girl."

She considers those words, a comparison to her own child.

"Then, he met another bright young man named Gellert."

She's struck by that name.

"You can ask Bathilda Bagshot. She'll tell you they were friends. If you're lucky, she'll mention they might have been more than friends. Albus believed in the power of love. I assume he told you that Remus' love for your children, as though they were his own, was what saved them?"

Lily nodded.

"Albus believed that love has power. That it could conquer all, that it could fix the world's ills. That it would save his sister, that it would save Gellert, that it would even save Voldemort. Except... except after Gellert, he felt his love could only destroy, that his love wasn't pure. So he tried to never love, to never care again."

This isn't true. It's a pretty lie, but I'm more than aware of what Albus' love did to Gellert, just as what his pain and misery did after Ariana. That pain and misery is destroyed. The love, though, is locked away, hopefully to never be seen again.

"When Albus' brother, Aberforth, came home from Hogwarts, he got into an argument with Gellert. Albus joined the argument, and soon wands were drawn. None of them ever said who cast the spell, and I doubt any of them want to remember, but Ariana was dead. Murdered. Albus cast out Gellert, but could not cast him out of his own heart. Aberforth hated Albus, but made sure to keep an eye on him... as family should."

"That's very sad, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Once Gellert began his reign of terror in Europe, Albus took six years to finally face him, to finally fight the man he counted as his closest friend. During that time... during that time, there was another young boy who needed help, who needed love. Albus met this young boy in an orphanage, and attempted to cow that young boy with power, with fear. Except... that young boy had already tasted power. He already knew fear, and wanted that power, wanted others to fear him. He didn't like people having power over him. He didn't like others having anything over him, so he sought power. He sought power over others, he sought to have them beg and grovel at his feet."

"Voldemort," says Lily.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," I add. A twitch of my finger shows her the same trick Tom showed me in second year. "I am Lord Voldemort."

I wondered what was going through her head as she looked at those words. She probably knew Bathilda, and would ask her about all of this. The rest? Well, I might be expected to know this.

"Why Evans?"

"It seemed a suitably offensive muggleborn name to pureblood sensibilities," I reply. In reality, it's the only magical name I'm allowed. I'm not an Heir to the Blacks, Harry is. There's some old pureblood and goblin rules here, that Lily isn't aware of, and no one is going to make her aware of anytime soon.

Lily nods, and drops the bombshell that tells me Minerva told.

"You'd have picked Lupin if it weren't line theft."

"Maybe," I reply, a small smile on my face. She really doesn't know. Huh.

She smiles.

"I... I can understand what you did to Albus. That he... that he did that to my daughter... but you're definitely living up to either name. Evans or Lupin."

"Thank you," I reply. It... it feels like validation. Not the best, but the little abused boy in me always looks for approval. Having her approve of me? Well that's heart-warming gold for me.

Lily eventually heads on her way, after chatting about her son and James for a little bit longer. Draco tries to turn in another essay.

"Very good, Mister Malfoy. You're thinking more like a Slytherin in cherry-picking your evidence. Unfortunately, relying entirely on Severus Snape's potions grades does not a good proof make. Let me show you how to lie like a muggle."

It was Mark Twain that said there are lies, damned lies, and statistics. It was Aaron Levenstein, however, that said statistics are like bikinis. What they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital. Draco, however, has no idea what a bikini is. Which, really, is his problem, not mine.

And no, I will _never_ wear one.

0x0x0x0

Dinner involving Sirius is a chore, apparently. I can completely agree with Snape. He's an arrogant prick. Azkaban, it seems, mellowed the bastard.

He's taken it upon himself to annoy the ever-loving fuck out of me, because he's figured out I like Tonks. I look like I'm taking it well, but only because of how I'm raised. One solid emotionless mask, coming right up.

It started with him ordering clams as an appetizer, combined with a conversation on pearl diving. It went downhill from there.

By the main course, Tonks is pretty uncomfortable, Andromeda and Ted are glaring, and Sirius is continuing blithely onwards like the Titanic into the Arctic Circle.

Dessert is skipped, and Sirius is informed he can get the check.

I wait for him at the path up to Hogwarts.

He's grinning like the fucking idiot he is as he walks up to me.

I deck him. With magical assistance, I break his jaw so I don't have to listen to him talk. A body bind makes sure he can't get away, and I levitate him. The occasional silent _Enervate_ ensures he is awake and in pain.

"Black," I begin. I'm probably speaking with my old voice of command. I used to do this with stupid hit-wizards, and stupider Dark Lords. "I don't know what you were thinking, you stupid little shit, but it clearly wasn't warranted, wanted, or in any way condoned by anyone else there."

There's a grunt of pain.

"I know you're awake, Black. I don't particularly care how you figured out I liked Tonks. In fact, I don't even want to know what convoluted leaps of logic your twisted and idiotic mind used to arrive at that correct solution. I especially don't want to know why the flying fuck it thought your behaviour tonight was a good idea. I suspect there is a complete disconnect between your brain and sense of common decency."

"Whatever your reason, it is clear what your motive is. If you didn't want me around Miss Tonks, fucking say so. You're a goddamn Gryffindor. Be upfront. You are not a Slytherin. Your cunning plans are doomed for failure. I'm well aware that McGonagall has spread about her theory as to who my parents were. Your hatred of all things Slytherin is more than well known. Hell, Snape whines about it every other staff meeting."

The doors to Hogwarts are ripped open by my magic, and I'm pretty sure Sirius can feel the miniature thunder-cloud of my magic. Hell, he can probably see it at this point.

"As Miss Tonks' Head of House, you needed only to state that you did not wish for me to speak with her, instead of ruining a perfectly acceptable friendship. Since you, however, have made your position clear, I accept it. I will cease speaking with Miss Tonks. I will cease any attempt of communication with your entire family, except on professional matters." We stop outside the door to the infirmary. I turn around, lean over him, and really let the power flood my voice. "**If you ever tell anyone, especially Tonks, I will kill you. Is that understood?**"

He nods, terrified. He can probably feel my voice in his chest.

I drop the levitation charm, and once I'm at the end of the corridor, release the body bind.

It was stupid of me, trying to become friends with Sirius. I'm not Harry anymore, I can't be his friend, or his Godson, or anything else. I head back to my quarters.

I'd drink myself stupid, but I don't want to deal with Draco Malfoy while hungover.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:** Sirius is an idiot. Lily really is far too nice a person. James will be different, and also in next chapter... Peter's either dead or in Azkaban, in case anyone's wondering. And yes, Jamie's always serious, but she's never Sirius.

I'd also like to add that I do appreciate any and all reviews. Including the flames, although I do wish they'd include what they didn't like about the story. If I don't know what's wrong, I can't make it better. So please review. Leave comments, questions, concerns. I love to hear back from you guys, and I'll respond to anything and everything if I'm able.

**EDIT 11/15/11:** Turns out there's no canon support for Severus being Draco's godson, beyond Narcissa going to him on bended knee to protect Draco. Severus and Lucius always struck me as very different people, as well. Lucius doesn't strike as the type to understand the concept of "friends," and Severus doesn't strike me as the type to have any beyond Lily.


	6. Chapter the 5th: Adults are Assholes

Disclaimer: How many times do I have to tell you people? I don't own Harry Potter.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Fifth – Adults are Assholes**

**0x0x0x0**

Dealing with Draco Malfoy while sober isn't any better. He arrived precisely on time, and quickly realised I wasn't in the mood for his arrogant bullshit. He sat at the table, retrieved the fourth draft of his essay, and set himself to work.

Hedwig has already left. I can feel that she's livid, both at Sirius and myself. She's carrying a letter to Tonks. It's practically a form letter, stating her Head of House has stated I'm not to speak with her any longer, and rather than get her in further trouble, I've decided instead to break off all communication.

Sirius wasn't at breakfast that morning, but he was at the evening meal. He attempted to talk to me, but quickly shifted the question to something about coordinating lesson plans for our N.E.W.T. levels when he felt my magic twitch.

Both McGonagall and Snape noticed. Snape smirked enough for me to notice, but no one else. McGonagall raised a questioning eyebrow, which is why she's entered her old classroom and asked to speak with me in my office.

Hedwig still has not returned.

"Is there a good reason my Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was found outside the infirmary this morning?" begins McGonagall.

"Depends on whose reason it is," I reply, taking a seat in my chair. McGonagall conjures her own chair, a wooden hard-backed thing, and sits in front of my desk. Oh, this won't be good. Not at all. She told me, once, that she conjures that hard-backed wooden chair whenever she wanted to stay angry at someone for a conversation. James, apparently, recognises this from his conversations with her.

"So what is your reason?"

"Your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor is a rude, insulting, arrogant pig. He invited me to dinner under false pretences, insulted me at great length, and I see no reason to ever speak with him again beyond professional matters. I consider the matter closed. Was there anything else?"

She sighs, realising this is one of those "inter-personal issues" that's nearly on the level of Snape and Black's "inter-personal issues."

"Will this affect your performance?"

"No," I reply. When the hell has being hated ever affected my performance?

She gives a sad frown, a few platitudes, and then leaves. I return to my classroom.

Draco's actually done a good job of learning statistics in two days. I almost want to break his heart by saying it's all made by muggles, but he's done a good job creating bell curves of student grades.

So far? He's unfortunately learned that muggleborns are only stupid in his year level. After that, they perform just as well, if not better, than purebloods. Apparently magic only picks the cream of the crop when it comes to muggleborns, which is the reason most of them are in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Hard workers and deep thinkers, all of them. Makes me wonder why Hermione was in Gryffindor.

0x0x0x0

Monday morning presents me with some justice.

Hedwig arrives with a single letter. It's addressed to Sirius, apparently, as that's where she delivers it. The billowing smoke and vibrant red colour identifies the type of letter. Sirius stares at it, terrified, and looks to me to act as some sort of saviour.

"You dug your grave. Lie in it," is all of my response.

The letter lifts off the table, and bursts.

Andromeda Cassiopeia Tonks nee Black does not screech like the portrait of Walburga Black nee Black. She does not shout like Molly Weasley nee Prewitt. She does not curse and swear like I, Jamie Evans, once Harry James Evans (once another last name entirely), do. Instead, she reminds me of Voldemort, of all people. Her voice is filled with a great and terrible _hate._ It fills the hall, forcing everyone else into silence.

"Sirius. Orion. _Black_." She talks down to Sirius, like the immature brat he is. It's wonderful.

"Man-child does not encompass the gross immaturity you express on a daily basis, and cannot begin to describe your actions this past Saturday. The betrayal of trust, the betrayal of what little family you have left, states all I need to know, Sirius. Walburga, may she rot in hell, at least had the gorm to cast you out in person. You call yourself a Gryffindor, and this is how you act?"

"You've finally outdone Bellatrix. I have never wanted to be cast from the Black family more than because of your actions. At least Bellatrix had the grace to be a lunatic bitch at all times."

"Even if you are my Head of Family, you are no longer welcome in my presence, let alone my home."

The hall is silent, as the howler disappears in a puff of smoke.

And then, I hear it. It's quiet, but in the silence of the hall, unmistakable.

Severus Snape is giving Sirius polite applause for the self-destruction of his own family.

0x0x0x0

James and Lily apparate to a ways down the road. There's few magicals nearby, so the ward on my house tells me when they arrive. Pretty simple ward, really, and all I really need for a muggle neighbourhood. A combination magical detection and malign intent ward. It tells me and the defences if somebody's arrived.

God help anybody who actually tries to fight their way through the defences.

The house became quite a bit more... gothic... over the summer. Stone gargoyles, demons, and various other malevolent statuary line the walls, and there are more buried in the lawn itself. There's only one thing buried under the back lawn, but only because I couldn't fit anything else.

The house itself has the usual enchantments on it; fire prevention, and durability. All very lightly cast, though, since I want the telephone and telly to work.

I let the Potters knock on the door to make them feel better about coming, and less expected.

Greetings are exchanged, although James doesn't seem to like me. Then again, he wanted to bury his daughter. They make no mention of Sirius, so I suppose they haven't heard yet. I don't fill them in. We walk through the house, and out the back door. Fenced in, but it's a wide-open expanse. I lead them to the holly tree with the granite marker at its base.

_Jessica Hope Potter_

_July 31st, 1980 – July 23rd, 1991_

Lily breaks down into tears, while James stands, stoically. He takes out his wand, and carves into the marker _Stolen And Lost, But Loved Always_.

There really isn't anything to say.

**0x0x0x0**

My tea party was a success.

Some small part of me shrivels in pain, cries out in terror and horror, but I ignore it with long practice.

Instead, I'm surrounded by nice young ladies, trying to act adult and with etiquette they don't entirely understand. It's funny, really. There's a lot of sugar, honey, and milk on the table, but the tea is a good solid black tea.

Most of them are first and second years, four are muggleborn, the rest are high-society blood-traitors. The only ones I really recognise are Granger, Jones, and Tracey Davis of all people. She's one of my high society blood traitors, apparently. Or maybe she's just interested in what a bunch of muggleborns would talk about.

Perks is interesting. A Hufflepuff first year. Never saw very much of her after first year. In fact, I can't even recall seeing her in second year, which means I'm going to keep an eye on her. She's muggleborn, very intelligent, but also very reserved and shy. She's a regular problem student, but in a good way, having some difficulties with her magic. I think she might also have a fake leg, but she's pretty quick about moving so I'm not entirely sure. I'll ask Poppy about it.

All in all, pretty simple conversation. Mostly kept to schoolwork, who's nice and who isn't, with quite a bit of conversation centred on Harry Potter. Apparently, he's as cordial and down-to-earth as he is in class, which says good things about the Potters.

There's a bit of argument over whether or not Snape is "nice," largely between Slytherins and non-Slytherins, although I do step in to moderate a bit. Eventually, they come to the conclusion that people are biased against Slytherins in general (I may have contributed with a few Hagrid's more pointed comments), but perhaps not without cause.

All in all, productive.

**0x0x0x0**

With my eyes open, it takes one more transfiguration class to I realise Perks has a speech impediment. Likely from whatever took her leg. Given the way she layers her hair, she also has a nasty scar on the side of her head.

So I chat with Pomona about it.

Car accident, it turns out. It took her leg and her parents.

"I've been arranging tutoring for her," she begins, "but it just hasn't been helping. She just hasn't been getting the material."

Pomona's an animated woman. She paces her office as she tells me this. When I mention the possibility of a speech impediment, she stares at me for a long moment, before sinking into her chair in sadness, thinking that's the end of it. She'd hoped with tutoring, the gap could be made up, but if she can't properly pronounce the invocations… doom and gloom reigns on her side of the desk.

"There might be an advanced technique or two I can help her with," I say. I can't help it. I have to help. Saving people thing, I guess.

"Do you think it might work?" she asks.

"She isn't afraid of hard work, Pomona. Her essays are only topped by Granger, and that's because Granger's can be bound and turned into textbooks."

Pomona smirks at that.

"I might have something that can help her. I'll take over her tutoring, alright?"

She smiles at me and thanks me.

"Don't thank me until I get some results."

**0x0x0x0**

"Miss Perks, be seated. Please remove your leg and make yourself comfortable." She blinks in shock, but takes off her leg and sits semi-cross-legged on the mat. I know she's more comfortable without it because I was always more comfortable without my hand. Everyone tries, but prosthetics are never the most comfortable things.

We're in my classroom, I've got a nice mat that keeps our butts warm, a clothe blindfold, and incense burning. The incense isn't just incense, but a specific type that has… recreational properties. Mostly for relaxing. I'm not affected by it because of the basilisk venom and phoenix tears, although I'm still creeped out that those are in my blood. Severus had the incense on hand, and after asking for it, he commented he needed it to deal with Black as well.

I start her with a basic mind-clearing exercise to get her in touch with her magic. I want her to be able to feel it, sense it. It takes about an hour of my calm and soothing voice to get her there. She's in a semi-dazed meditative state, eyes half-focused.

"Pick up your wand, and cast Lumos, bright as you can."

It's an easy spell, and easy to pronounce as well. Barely any wand motions to it. Her eyes roll to look at the tip of it.

"End it."

"Nox."

We repeat this a few times, before I hand her the blindfold.

"I want you to cast it again, but I don't want you to pay attention to the tip of your wand. I want you to pay attention to how your fingers feel when you cast the spell."

"It feels warm," she says.

I have her cast over and over, following that warm feeling through her fingers, into her hand, and up her arm. In the meantime, I pick up her leg and examine it. I need to do something with my hands, now that I don't need to pay attention to her state.

Her leg's a solid aluminium pole, goes on right below the knee, and has a rather plastic foot at the bottom. I start carving runes with my magic into the surface as she makes her way through her shoulder, and she finally reaches her heart.

"What's there?" I ask.

"It's… it's warm. I…"

"The question isn't one that can be answered. I want you to focus on that feeling, focus on that warmth. This time, when you cast Lumos, whisper the invocation."

The Lumos comes out much brighter than before. Then again, that's what happens when you're meditating on your own soul. Magic is the light of the soul, the expression of it on the physical world. Some muggleborn scientists talk about a "magical core" and developing indexes of magical power for wizards. They're full of shit.

The only sensical ones were a few enterprising muggleborns creating models for spells. I think they've been jokingly calling themselves para-physicists or some-such. They'd started with a lot of the easier models, banishing and levitation and summoning charms and the like. I think they were developing a unit of magical energy based on levitating a kilogram of material for a pre-determined amount of time. I'm assuming they eventually plan on collecting enough data to build a relationship to the actual joule. "Correlation by over-analysis" I think was the term.

It was interesting, but I wasn't holding my breath.

I once walked into science-sort of symposium, after they'd supposedly developed a spell to test magical ability. I had them cast the spell on me twice. The first time, it said I was a squib, the second time, it said I was Albus sodding Dumbledore. Then I gave them a bit more to think about, when I told them the story of a fellow student of mine. It was about how his extended family was convinced he was a squib until they dropped him out a goddamn window, and he bounced.

Hermione got sucked up into science lot, somehow. Her want and need to quantify the intangible rather than physically model the tangible was something that more amused Ron than anything else. She'd picked up a proof by a muggleborn philosopher (written in the early 1800s, so this was the classical definition of philosopher) attempting to determine the "shape" of the human soul. Apparently, the appropriate math didn't exist back, and Hermione, being Hermione, decided to complete it. By the time we dragged her away form it to a pub, she'd been awake for three days and was mumbling about Mobius strips, hyper-toroids, and n-dimensional klein bottles.

She got very, very drunk, and never looked at those notes again. Ron and I knew it was the closest she would ever come to admitting defeat, and we never asked about it, either.

I realized about 30 years later that what she was attempting to do – defining magic with science and math – is a bit like defining the color blue with smells. It can be done, if you try really hard, but it's not going to work very well. Magic, by its very nature, is mysterious and enigmatic. It is zen at its finest. It is something you meditate and ruminate on, rather than define in scientific theories.

Part of the reason she was focusing on this, though, were Horcruxes. She was trying to wrap her head around _why_ they worked. After all, by the end of it, didn't Riddle have 1/256th of a soul? Shouldn't that make him ineligible to continue existence? How could the less than 1/100th of a soul in either my forehead or in Nagini keep Riddle form passing on?

After nearly a month of scrambling through libraries and insulting Unspeakables, I finally convinced her to do a meditation that was very similar to the one I had Sally-Anne do, only far more navel-gazing. The only reasons she went along with it is because Bill Weasley recommended it, and then we did it together.

The meditation is comparable to stepping through a door, and finding yourself staring at the Milky Way Galaxy with such granularity that you can pick out your own individual eyelashes when you glance at the Earth.

Afterwards, we went to the pub.

Hermione was three pints in before she started talking.

"It's hard to believe that... well... that that's us. That's who we are."

I grunted.

"How can something that big be in... well... in us?" she asked.

I knew she was being rhetorical, so I didn't bother answering.

"I mean, I read Feynman's 'There's Plenty of Room at the Bottom' but this is something else."

"Yep," I replied, signalling for another round.

She drained her third pint, and then stared at the empty glass for a few minutes.

"No wonder the purebloods are egotistical shitbags," she added.

"Yep." The waitress dropped off two new pints.

"Christ." That was the one and only time I'd ever heard Hermione take the Lord's name in vain.

The thing that Hermione didn't want to entirely articulate was that, contrary to everything comprehensible, the human soul is infinite. Which has some strange implications. In relation to Horcruxes, it makes for some very simple math. Half of infinite is still infinite, and 1/256th of infinite is still just as infinite as ½ of it. Granted it's still _less_, but that only matters as far as sanity is concerned.

The side weirdness to this is that, since it's infinite, it can't end. That is to say, the soul is eternal. How eternal is something that people don't really like to question, but given the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady date back to around the founding of Hogwarts, it's "a long fucking time."

As tempting as it is, I've never tested this with the stone.

Back to Sally-Anne, though.

We repeat the casting process a number of times, and I tell her to just mouth the words, to feel the magic spreading through her body to her wand. She's a little darker this time, but each time is brighter than the last, until she finally gets it as bright as before.

"Now, I want you to stop speaking, stop whispering, and just think each invocation, and think of your magic moving as it moved when you spoke it."

It's darker this time, a lot darker, but there's still a pin-prick of light.

"Again," I say.

The light goes out, and then it returns, brighter than before. We repeat, maybe two dozen times, before it's finally as bright as when she started.

"Remove the blindfold," I say.

She slowly takes it off, and looks down at her wand, at the bright light emanating from its tip.

"Nox it."

She does.

"And light it."

It's as bright as when she first entered the true meditative state. She smiles.

"Congratulations, Miss Perks. You can now cast spells silently. It will take a bit more work to practice more spells, but that's what I'm her for, alright?"

She smiles and nods.

**0x0x0x0**

I should mention that, during this time, Sirius has given me a number of pained looks, letters, and even attempted to send me a howler to try and speak with me.

My response has been, at the staff table, to openly glare at Sirius, and then burn the letters. The lone howler was dispatched with Fiendfyre.

"It's rare to see someone with credible control of that spell," comments Severus, impressed.

"A proper witch learns to control her spells," I reply. I catch the thinnest of smirks, before he gives some witty, acerbic, and sarcastic reply about the mangy cur. Which is about when I asked about the incense for Perks.

James Potter made an attempt at speaking with me, a week or two after visiting Jessica's gravestone. I know he doesn't like me in the slightest, and the situation with Sirius is adding to it.

"Sirius asked me to speak with you," he begins the conversation, without so much as an introduction or even a greeting. I don't offer one to him, either, so it's not my concern.

"Then I have nothing to say to you, Mister Potter." I don't look up. Mostly because I don't want him to see how hurt I am. I mean dealing with my own parents like this? Sometimes, things worked out better when I was an orphan.

"Miss Evans, I-," he tries to continue, but I've already silenced him. It's a shock to him, to be silenced without even being looked at, but I've dealt with enough idiots in my time.

"Mister Potter," I begin. "I am your son's teacher. Do you have any questions about that topic?"

He glares at me, as he removes his wand and dispels the silencing charm.

"No, but this is about a man I consider a brother, part of my family. And right now, the rest of his family hates him. So I'd like to know just what the hell is going on."

I consider him for a long moment. It seems Black took my threat to heart, and didn't mention our conversation at all. I put down the fountain pen (I can barely stand quills at this point), and lean back in my chair.

"Your best friend, your brother in all but blood, is a cold, heartless imbecile with no concern for anyone's feelings or privacy if it serves his own personal amusement. He has no comprehension that his actions have consequences. So it's his problem."

"You did threaten to kill him."

"Which part of 'no concern for anyone's privacy if it serves his own personal amusement' did you miss?"

James sighs. Is he thinking about Severus and Remus? Who knows, it's not like I've ever spoken with the man.

"I know Sirius doesn't think before he acts, but can I at least have some idea of what stupidity he did?"

I stare at James Potter for a long moment before I answer. Consequences roll through my mind, before I decide.

"Black decided that, instead of actually outright saying he didn't wish for me to speak with his family, he'd insult me for the entire meal. After dinner, I politely broke his jaw, and dropped him in front of the infirmary."

James face tightens. I've made no mention of what I was insulted about, but given the way he's acting, he's figured it out. Given the way the Wizarding World looks at blood and heirs, it's more than a little frowned upon to be a homosexual. In larger families, the children are drowned. In the smaller families, well, that's what marriage contracts are for. I'm not surprised Sirius was disgusted with me. He is a pureblood, after all. James has figured out what Sirius has (correctly, but we won't go there) accused me of.

He also understands that I let off Sirius _very_lightly.

"I also have some questions as an Auror."

"About what?" I ask.

"Your past. It's very... intangible. Somehow, I doubt you went to both Stonewall High and Miskatonic."

Miskatonic University is in America, although University is a misnomer for the place. "Library of Unholy Knowledge, that also teaches classes by invitation" might work better. I paid a very long visit to a few members of the faculty, and the Dean was the one who declared me a Warlock. The Dean is also the sort of thing that considers time travel an annoyance, mostly because of repeating faculty meetings.

Also, with the New World's animosity of all things European, giving an English Auror the runaround would be considered a time-honoured tradition.

"And if you look hard enough, you can find out who the Goblins bribed," I say. Bribery by Goblin is considered something of a time-honoured tradition in the English government. Money is money, after all. "Did you have a direction for this questioning?"

"Who was your father."

"I was disowned. By Blood."

"By Voldemort?"

"No, Voldemort aka Tom Marvolo Riddle is not, and never was, my father. If he was, I'd have killed myself."

That shuts him up.

"Then how are you able to speak Parseltongue?"

"Unwilling soul magic ritual."

"Who was the unwilling recipient?" asks James.

"Me, but the other person's dead now."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?"

"I'll go three drops of Veritaserum," I reply.

My willingness to go that far stops James for a moment.

"You'd be willing to spill your own secrets?"

"Not really. But if it'll get you off my back, why not?" The Fidelius will prevent a lot of it from coming out, and the rest I can Dumbledore my way through.

Round one, it seems, goes to me, as James decides he's had enough, and needs some time to think. It's not like I'm going anywhere.

0x0x0x0

"Now, Miss Perks, we start on Transfiguration."

It's late October. It's been three weeks since I started her on this path, and she can fall into the appropriate meditative state in under fifteen minutes, now. She still needs some guidance, but I'm weaning her off of it.

"With this, you must guide your magic. With charms, the invocation and wand movement guides your magic. With this, _you _must direct it. You must see what you want, and then direct your magic to create it."

It's back to the matchstick to needle.

She works on it for two hours, tapping her wand against a matchstick. She lights three, destroys seven, and transfigures two dozen silver matchsticks of increasing pointiness before she produces a silver needle.

Which, naturally, I then tell her to repeat.

Repeatedly.

I tell her we'll progress as we did in class, buttons into bottle caps is next, and that I expect her to start learning charms silently, rather than with words.

She nods.

0x0x0x0

October 31st. Halloween night.

There's a large party/feast in the Great Hall. I'm in my office, door locked, charmed, and warded, performing my yearly ritual ever since James' death.

Me, a shot glass, and an entire bottle of Glenfiddich.

I raise my empty glass to the basilisk skull.

"Fuck you, you fucking fuck."

I throw the glass at the fireplace, and pull directly from the bottle.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**And we get a little bit more of Jamie's history. Not all of it, mind you, but more of it. There's a rather angsty, whiney, and dark fic that could be written about Harry. I think my interest in Perks comes from Paimpoint's "The Strange Disappearance of Sally-Anne Perks." It can be found on my favourite's page. A lot of his other stuff is pretty good, but I'll warn you now: A lot of it is Harry/Voldemort slash. Some of it is hilarious Harry/Voldemort slash, but still Harry/Voldemort slash. For his non-slash, I recommend "Those Witching Shades" and "The Boggart and the Bridge" for ambient creepiness.

**Author's Note from 10/1/2012:** So there's a change to this chapter, since I'm about as good with Math and Physics as English Literature. A big thanks to Bgbg for knocking some sense into my head about it.


	7. Chapter the 6th: Domestics & Debauchery

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If you thought I did, you're a goddamn idiot.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Sixth – Domestics and Debauchery**

0x0x0x0s

I am more than a little hung over during classes, but I work through it anyways. I've done harder while worse. Granted, this was how I lost my hand, but I'm only teaching. Hunting Dark Wizards is something I plan on letting other people do.

McGonagall gives me a sharp look at lunch, since I still have a headache, and has me come to her office that evening.

"I don't normally like seeing my teachers hung over," she states, stern, overbearing, and slightly motherly.

"Sorry. Only time of the year I do drink. Avoid the stuff otherwise."

"And just how much did you drink?" she asks.

"Entire bottle of Glenfiddich. Muggle whisky."

"I am entirely knowledgeable about good Scottish Whisky, Miss Evans. What possible reason do you have to drink an entire bottle?"

"My son was murdered on Halloween." It's a low blow, but it's the honest truth. Let it never be said that Voldemort didn't know the theatre of terror.

Weird fact? A medical diagnostic spell says I gave birth. Not sure what I'm supposed to say to that. I know I'm not a virgin, but I know Jessica didn't give birth. Was it the potion? The basilisk scar on my arm suggests it was. I'll have to look into it.

McGonagall is of course horrified. I think she's building some sort of horror story of my life, but I don't want to correct any of it. Really, my actual life was much worse.

0x0x0x0

I hand only the recipe of the potion to Severus, and ask him a single question.

"What, exactly, does this do?"

He stares at it for a long moment, makes a few notes on a piece of parchment, before answering.

"It permanently ages you into who you are supposed to be," replies Severus. "I would guess this is a class two dark potion, possibly class three, likely punishable with five to ten years in Azkaban for brewing it. Why, sick of looking younger than your students, Evans?"

"Nah, it'd be too obvious. Besides, why bother taking a few years off my own life for the sake of my ego?"

At this, Severus nods, but I let him keep the recipe, even if he hasn't already memorized it.

0x0x0x0

"Umm... Professor Evans?" asks a nervous Harry Potter.

"Yes, Mister Potter?" I ask, barely looking up.

"Do you think you could help me with an essay?"

I have to think for a moment. I don't recall assigning the second years any essays this week, but it could have slipped my mind.

"Sure, what's it about?"

"Well... it's a charms essay."

I blink a moment. He's coming to me about this? I'm surprised he's not asking Sirius. Or Flitwick. I know Babbling's the current Gryffindor head, and she's not an idiot when it comes to charms. Please don't tell me he has a crush on me. _Please_.

"Sure, what's the problem?"

He shows me his essay. It reads like a shotgun blast of ideas. I dig through my desk for my comb-bound book on essays, and drop it on the desk. Harry stares at it, surprised, and completely unsure of the existence of the material known as plastic.

I spend an hour with him, not fixing his essay, but teaching how to write one of the bloody things. I also point him in Hermione's direction if he wants to get a few ideas for how to organize his thoughts or brainstorm ideas.

He stays in my classroom and writes a new essay, as Sally-Anne shows up. She's surprised to see Harry, but I wave him off, and we work on her meditation.

0x0x0x0

It's mid-December. Everything's going as well as expected.

The Weasley twins are continuously attempting to break into my office. Personal suspicion says the Mutt is backing them. I treat it as an outside learning experience, and begin to vary the defences, to see how quickly they learn curse breaking. The Mutt has attempted several pranks against me. My ability to detect magic has, alongside reaction times just this side of precognition, prevented anything embarrassing from happening. I allow the occasional less-than-embarrassing curse through to prevent things from escalating, however. About once a week, I spend the entire day with some random ailment that's easily ignored.

Harry has become a regular visitor, working on homework in my classroom. He hasn't hit it off with any of the various students that stop by, but they all seem a little surprised to see him. I have him occasionally helping Neville with Transfiguration and Charms.

I rarely see Devin.

Sally-Anne is progressing quickly. It didn't take long for Flitwick to come to me when her grades began turning around, and he was gobsmacked when he first realised that she was casting silently.

"Skill," I replied, having a bunch of things from his shelves circle overhead with a twirl of my finger.

"Will you be teaching her to do that, as well?"

"I doubt it," I reply. Silent seems enough, although if she asks, I'll comply. I didn't learn this method. Instead, I learned because of the Elder Wand.

The Elder Wand is, certainly, an unbeatable wand. But it's also Death's wand. It can perform shield charms that block the Killing Curse, not that very many people ever realised it. Not the Imperius or the Cruciatus, but definitely the Killing Curse. And it isn't just that. I've mentioned it's permanence in conjuration, but it also ties itself into your magic. It awakens it, calls it forth, sets you in tune with it, and then sets your magic, and you, in tune with something else entirely. Dumbledore and Voldemort are both well above my league in terms of power, and yet I can perform feats of magic that could leave them quaking in fear.

I remember feeling the hairs of my neck raise with the power Voldemort expended in chasing after me and Hagrid. The black mist flowing, the sheer bloody power that rolled off him as he flew under his own strength. And yet, for me to do it? Nigh effortless, unnoticeable by those around me. Magic comes easier to me, my body conducts it and works it with ease. It was less "this is how wandless magic works" and more "huh, I just did wandless magic without thinking about it."

I still learned the techniques I'm teaching her, but mostly for the sake of the animagus transformation. I learned it in my forties, part of getting my life back together again after a fifteen year drunken binge. I was not in a pleasant place after Ginny and James' murder.

Grindelwald likely learned some of this, during his time with the wand. Perhaps he only experimented with it near the end, when he knew Albus was coming for him. Albus, after all, was in a league of his own.

There are few words to describe the power Albus Dumbledore wielded. I've seen the memories, witnessed the power and devastation he could wield. There's a reason the Wizengamot gave him the position Chief Warlock. He was the big stick that Britain wielded against the rest of Europe. If Albus ever well and truly lost it, all of Europe would be in flames before he was stopped.

It's for this reason I'm thankful he never tried to learn. Grindelwald could hold his own against Albus. If Albus had learned… I shudder at the very thought. So I think of other things.

Pomona is also ecstatic about Sally-Anne's sudden spike in grades.

She's a sweet kid, and the fact that she's willing to head back to the foster home she lives at says quite a bit about the place. I've already told her I'll be visiting.

Which leads me to what I'll be doing over the Christmas Holidays.

It's taken me a fair amount of time to decide what to do about the Dursleys. It's also taken this long for me to decide not to murder them all. Instead, I've come up with a cruel, ruthless, and horrible vengeance upon them. It'll take time, but that's what's best about revenge.

I also send back an RSVP for the Potter Christmas party, saying I will be unable to attend.

As amusing as it would be to watch Andi lay into Sirius some more, I don't want to trouble Lily and James' marriage. It's obvious James doesn't like me. And to see Tonks again... no. Besides, I do have business to attend to over the holidays.

Namely, vengeance.

0x0x0x0

I take a break to visit said foster home. It's a rather nice place, not exactly the greatest neighbourhood, but clearly the place is well cared for. I consider it for a long moment. Not too well cared for, though. I nod at that, and walk up the shovelled walk to the door. I actually remember to touch the doorbell, and wait a moment for someone to open it.

A surly-faced teenager, I'd put him at about fifteen, opens the door and glares up at me.

"Who're you?" he grumbles.

"My name's Jamie Evans. I'm one of Sally-Anne's teachers," I reply, glaring down at him. He flinches, as he turns to call over one of the two foster parents I spoke with on the phone.

I say hello to the mother, before I hear the soft pitter-tapping of socked feet.

"You came," says Sally-Anne, stopping at the doorway into the front hall.

"Well, why do you think I asked for your address and phone number?" I ask.

"To send me a gift," she replies easily.

"Well that's no good. It's always better to see someone's face when they receive the gift. You already open presents?"

"We did, very early this morning," supplies her foster father, gripping a cup of coffee like it was a lifeline.

"Well then you can open this one now," I say, handing her a box I've seemingly pulled out of thin air. Really, it's just a disillusionment charm, but I know how it looks.

"So you're really a magician?" asks one of two other foster kids. "Does that mean you can pull a rabbit out of your hat?"

"No, sorry, I don't pull rabbits out of hats," I say. "I can, however, conjure a hat," which I promptly do with an imaginative swirl of my suddenly appearing wand, "and turn it into a rabbit." I transfigure the hat into a nice, normal, non-venomous rabbit. The wand disappears back into my quick-draw holster, and I hand the boy the rabbit.

He blinks at it, then at me, with awe.

"Don't ask me to do card tricks, though," I say with a smile. "That's something I was never any good at."

Sally-Anne smiles at me, and finally removes the wrapping.

There are a few things in the box. Right on top are two sets of books. She's a foster child, and she talks about visiting the library a lot, so I figured she should have her own set of the important works of literature.

A hardbound, illustrated copy of _The Chronicles of Narnia_, in the Right and Proper Order, starting with _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. I once had an argument with Hermione about it, before she died. She stood by the Chronological Order, starting with _The Magician's Nephew_, citing some letter by Lewis himself. The argument, according to Ron, was legendary, and we didn't speak for a week, afterwards. It was nice to argue about little things, rather than the big things, at least.

Sally-Anne's eyes go wide at the next gift. It took a bit of digging, but I also managed to hunt down her other favourite set of books in hardcover. Dealer's rooms in American science fiction conventions are useful for something, at least. _The Song of the Lioness_ are her, by far, favourite books. She found them in a public library, and fell in love with them there.

She gives me a hug for both sets of books.

"You shouldn't have given me so much," she says.

"Hey, I don't have many people to give gifts to, so I have to make up for both quality and quantity. Which reminds me, there's a little bit more in there."

She nods, and finds an incense holder. A sterling silver incense holder, in fact. And incense. None of it is Severus' special incense, but a fair amount of it is high quality. There's also an envelope containing a magical lighter with a muggle-repelling charm on it.

The usual conversation ensues over Christmas Dinner, about how young I am, how qualified I am (when I explain a Mastery is equivalent, roughly, to a Doctorate, they begin to understand). When they ask questions about Dumbledore, I decide to be up-front and honest.

"Dumbledore is an old war hero. He defeated the magical equivalent of Hitler. At about the same time, as well."

"Hitler?" asks the foster mother. "And he was a teacher?"

"At the time. They practically forced him to be the figurehead for the Wizarding House of Lords, and also the Secretary General of the Wizarding UN. I'm sure there were a few other titles in there, but I don't think he cared much about them either."

"For defeating Hitler?" asks the foster father.

"For _personally_ defeating Hitler. The Wizarding World has a lot of expectation dumped on their heroes."

This naturally leads into a whole discussion of Harry Potter, of all people. I deflect it all onto Remus Lupin. This whole discussion, that whole aspect of Remus Lupin creeps me out on some level, how he loved Harry that much… but didn't visit me at all after James and Lily died. Could that have been what caused it all? A slightly different Remus Lupin? I could ask…

I shake it off. It's best not to ask those sorts of questions. Let the dead remain so.

Sally-Anne also asks just what some of those titles really mean, which brought us to the term "Warlock." She knew I was one, because she'd heard Severus reference me as such.

The title itself doesn't have a happy history, at least as muggles are concerned. Largely believed to represent a male witch, older connotations included back-stabber, oath-breaker, and the devil himself. Warlocks, by and large, were not good people. They aren't good people today, either.

Warlocks are witches and wizards trained for war. They are tempered in the fires of adversity, whether through the defeat of a magical creature or the fires of war itself. Predominately, that means men, since it's mostly men being sent off on quests or to war, but it varies from country to country. There's also a basic skill-set of spells required, and an inherent power requirement to cast those spells. Different countries have different opinions on what those spells are, but none of them are very pleasant, and all of them will make muggle militaries pause, even today.

The Warlocks that reach old age are also the most underhanded, backstabbing bastards that ever did exist. We have to be. Otherwise we die.

Hence the bad history, really.

The rest of the meal and evening is nice, pleasant even. I chat with Sally-Anne's foster parents, make sure she doesn't have any questions about her essays, and then fade away into the night.

0x0x0x0

New Years, I've always felt, should be spent in celebration of Tom Riddle's death, which is why I'm at a specific Veela Brothel in Southern France. I have, quite successfully, paid for a day and a night with the matron of the Brothel, Bernadette.

The fact that I requested her by name intrigues her, and we start with a nice cup of tea, and a few hours talking.

Bernadette is a full-blooded Veela. She looks to be about twenty-five, which in Veela terms, pegs her around fifty. She's got another two hundred or so years in her. I met her for the obvious reason, namely, I was the paid gentleman for her brothel.

Save Veela from a Dark Wizard, and they will do everything in their power to keep you. They'll start with the allure, and attempt to make you some sort of bouncer/bodyguard. Failing that, they'll hire you.

The allure didn't work on me. When they realised that, they asked for something far more important (in their minds) to do. Veela brothels, especially high class ones, are very good at what they do. So good in fact, that what the Veela do is never as enjoyable for them as for their customers. They like to keep a gentleman or two on hand to… take care of them, as it were. Long story short?

I was paid to make love to Veela.

Only me.

Bernadette was pretty much the only Veela I never touched, because she bats for the other team. An extraordinary rarity with them, but it happens. Given that I'm now on that team, I thought it might be nice to catch up. Or, as the conversation went, for me tease her, while she got more and more amused by the sixteen year old girl treating her like an old friend.

"You are a time traveller, yes?"

At this, I smile. She's the matron of a brothel. It means she's not an idiot.

"It is the only explanation that makes sense. You know me, but I do not know you. Although, perhaps you only have memories of someone?"

"No, you are right. I've also found a few problems adjusting to my new gender, as well."

She holds her hand to her heart.

"Little wonder you tease me so much!" she replies. "I must have regularly tortured you."

"I can resist your allure like no other, my dear. Even of the entire brothel."

"You were a gentleman, then?"

I nodded. She tests me, from the tight reigns of just her beauty, to the full blast of her naked body. I'm impressed by how fast the clothing disappears, I'd suspect a vanishing charm if she weren't full-blooded. Instead, I pick up my tea cup, and calmly take another sip.

"You do not play with the boys?" she asks, smiling as she takes away my tea cup.

"Would I play with boys if I were here?" I ask.

She takes a seat in my lap.

It's a long, tiring day.

0x0x0x0

Somewhere after dusk, we lie in bed. We're holding each other, staring into each other. It isn't love. It's more a mutual lust, a mutual curiosity in each other. I know she's married to her work, and I've just started my own. We might be occasional lovers, after this. Friends with benefits, as the Americans say.

As I slip away to do some business in the lavatory, I recall the other bit of business I wanted to discuss with her.

I take it out of its pouch, and shiver a little in pleasure as it slides in. It's still a strange feeling, having "Slot B" instead of "Tab A," but the perks have been pretty good so far. Except for the cramps, I could have done without those. Granted, Bellatrix was extremely helpful with knowledge in that respect.

"And what, dare I ask, is that?" asks Bernadette. She's only half-awake, and she's looking between my legs with half-lidded eyes.

"A prototype, I think is the word, a working one that needs proper testing. Something you might be interested in."

She nods, inviting me back into the bed.

It's a tricky bit of magic, getting the rune combinations right. I still haven't managed a good combination for the cleaning, but I'm using medical silicon as a base material, so I'm not overly concerned about that, yet.

"Proper testing?" she asks.

"You can only test so much on your own," I reply, smiling.

"Then we will have to test it properly."

It's a delightful experiment. I take the time to adjust the runes, the power, and effect, until it feels just that right sort of delightful. A little different from how it should be, but delightful.

"May I?" she asks, her hand on it.

I nod, not paying much attention and fairly wiped from the, ahem, physical exercise, and the fact that it's nearing midnight.

She takes it out, and I shiver again from the experience of it being removed.

"Sensitive?" she asks, amused.

I nod again, and watch as she slides it into herself. She hisses with pleasure as it connects to her, and she groans as she touches it, feeling its length and breadth. I admit, I picked an average size, but it still looks big as I realise I've never done this before. Images from Jessica's nightmares (I try not to admit to myself they're memories) try to bubble up, but I clamp down on them, and cast them back into the pit where they belong.

I'm guessing she likes the feedback. I worked on balancing the sensations I remember with what I could feel. It's the reason I took so long testing it. Really, it is.

Still, she takes her time getting ready, and I don't have the slightest problem with that. Really. It's my first time. I'm not nervous in the slightest.

She's kind. She's sweet. She takes her time. It doesn't hurt, overly much. Some sick and twisted part of me realises it's because Jessica was raped so many times. It's a wonder I feel anything at all. I figure it must have been the potion, and just succumb to the feelings down there, the fullness, the sweetness of her lovemaking.

I will say this though; it's just as good to receive, as it is to give.

0x0x0x0

So it takes a little bit of haggling the next day, and maybe a few more "tests," but I now have an income outside of being a teacher. Somehow, I don't think this is what McGonagall thought I'd be doing in my spare time.

It does, however, give me a few ideas for Miss Perk's fake leg, though.

0x0x0x0

"The house-elves fed you two idiots, right?" I ask, as I step into my office for the first time in two weeks.

The Weasley twins are suspended from the ceiling, staring at the gaping maw of the basilisk skull. The mount that's holding it may be enchanted to move the jaw a little, and make very faint hissing noises. Or it might be their imaginations.

I ignore them both, and instead pick up the piece of parchment on the ground. I play with it for a little bit, watch as it talks and insults back. I leave the parchment on my desk, and then turn to the twin troublemakers.

"Why, exactly, are you so stupidly in my office?"

I don't even pay any attention to whatever bullshit they produce. Most of it is probably true, by this point. The wards on my office tell me they've been up there for two days. I'd like to think I wouldn't crack, if I were hanging upside-down with a creepy basilisk skull for a few days, but that's a load of horseshit.

I let them down, eventually, and inform them they'll be serving a very long and humiliating detention with me next week.

0x0x0x0

It's two days later that both Lily and James stop by after the evening meal.

"Good evening, Miss Evans," says Lily. It's kind of funny how formal the three of us are. I suppose meeting before a murder does that.

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter," I reply, not looking up.

"I was wondering why you turned down the invitation."

"I was busy over the holidays, Mrs. Potter. I also don't do well with social functions," I say, giving a subtle look towards James. Lily doesn't catch it, but James does. I feel a touch of Legilimency, and I shove forward thoughts of troubling his marriage. I figure it's rocky enough.

"You're also avoiding everyone with the last name Black or Tonks," says James, covering for me. I suppose it's his way of thanking me. He promptly gets elbowed in the ribs by Lily.

"Which she's allowed to do," adds Lily with a glare. At this, James rolls his eyes. "And really, it's best to rub Sirius' nose in his mistakes."

I snort.

"He seems the type," I add. "Was there something academic I could help you with?"

"Minerva's worried about you," says Lily. "She says you're being almost as anti-social as Severus."

"Mrs. Potter, I assure you, I am not being anti-social. I spent Christmas with one of my student's foster family, and New Years with an old friend."

"And the rest of the holiday?"

"I was away on business," I replied. In Little Whinging, Surrey, not that I'll mention that out-loud... for a little while. I'm still finishing up a few details and interviews. I also spoke with Severus. The man knew everything, it seems. He'd made the mistake of making an Unbreakable Vow of Loyalty to Dumbledore. Albus, after all, trusted him for a reason, didn't he?

"Really? And just what sort of business were you on?"

At this, I merely smile. A shiver runs down each of their backs. Lily changes the conversation over to Harry, while James sits in a hateful silence. I don't try to draw him into the conversation, and act like nothing's wrong, while Lily tries.

I wish I could just out and out say it's not working. I also wish I knew her well enough to figure out why she's trying to so hard. I know it's not because she thinks I'm family. Maybe she's one of those people who are just _that caring_. If she is... I feel all the worse that I'm doing this to her, and all the worse that I'm coming between her and James.

She takes a minute to use the bathroom.

I lean back in my chair for a minute.

"She doesn't realise you hate me, does she?" I ask James.

"Hate's a strong word," says James.

I give him a look. He glares back.

"You remind me of an old friend of hers. He betrayed her at the worst possible time."

I nod. I remind him of Severus. The poor abused child, taken under Lily's wing. It probably doesn't help I'm using her last name, either. That can't be everything, though. Hedwig's a better judge of character than I am, and she joins us for the rest of the conversation, sharing some of her observations of Harry's character.

Harry himself doesn't have a lot of good friends. Devin's sort of just there, much like Ron, while all the purebloods hold him at arm's length. I look at him and I don't see myself. I see Neville Longbottom. A metric tonne of expectations dropped on his shoulders, and he's floundering to keep up with all of them.

I don't know whether or not to give them my honest opinion on Harry, so I outright ask them.

They seem surprised, but Lily does.

They both wince when I say he'd probably have done better in Hufflepuff for all the work he does. I'm probably his favourite teacher because I treat him like every other student, and don't expect him to know the answer in the unlikely event I call on him. Lord knows all the others have high expectations. I recollect a staff meeting focused almost entirely on him.

Flitwick and Sirius were having an argument about his grades. As near as I could understand it, they were arguing which class Harry was better at, DADA or Charms. I stayed out of it, mostly because they seemed to be acting like who was holding Harry to a higher standard than the rest of the class. Flitwick tries to drag me into this, figuring I'll side with him because I hate Sirius so damn much.

"You're both fucking idiots. He's a regular student, and you're just making him hate your subject."

"That's entirely untrue. Harry's doing splendidly in Charms," replies Flitwick, while Sirius is smart enough to not say a damn thing to me.

"Splendidly? Did that opinion form about a month and a half ago?"

"Well, I don't know about the exact time..."

"Perhaps because his essay-writing has improved?"

"Yes, it certainly has."

"Because he's been coming to me, because he's worried about what you'll say when he comes to you, let alone anyone else?"

"He can come to me," says Sirius, annoyed.

"Shut the fuck up, Black," I automatically say. Minerva looks annoyed, but doesn't say anything, while the other teachers look on. "He's been coming to me because, near as I can tell, I'm the only teacher here that treats him how he wants to be treated."

"And what's that, a pampered prince?" Severus asks lazily. I can tell his heart's not in it. He's phoning it in, now that Albus is gone. He still does a decent job when it comes to Sirius, though.

"No, like any other student," I reply.

"But- he's the Boy-Who-Lived," replies Flitwick. I want to smack the ever-loving shit out of him. This is the same idiot that let people steal Luna's things for five years. Flitwick is not someone high on my list.

"No, he's Harry," I reply. "You're expecting Merlin from a second year. He's been taught to defend himself from people who would murder him, not some obscure charm to clean his arse so people can kiss it. Give him a chance to be normal."

James chuckles at that, while Lily looks aghast. She glares at James, who immediately resumes his disdainful, one might even say Snape-like, glower at me.

"So how is he doing?" asks Lily. "Now, that is."

"Flitwick's treating him mostly the same. Severus, as I understand, hasn't been his usual self, but that's because his Dark Mark isn't acting up as much. Pomona listened to me, but only because I'm working with one of her students. Sinistra couldn't care less, and Black is his usual idiot self. I understand why Black is pushing him so much in Defence, but Harry comes to me to complain about it."

"And in your class?" asks James, his voice noticeably icy. Lily gives him (another) a cold look, while I gave Lily an apologetic one.

"Practically, I could have him in third year. His theory's a little lacking, so I have him tutoring Neville Longbottom," I reply. "And so that he's close to someone who's in very much the same position."

"The same position?" asks James, wary.

"Dame Longbottom has her own expectations of Frank Longbottom's son," I tell him.

James closes his eyes, and then nods in understanding.

"Expectations?" asks Lily.

"That he be exactly like Frank, because he's Frank's son," replies James. "I was afraid of that. She didn't take what happened to Frank and Alice well."

"He's also using Frank's wand."

Both of them show signs of resignation.

"Augusta isn't someone who changes easily," says James. "And I don't like what you're saying about us."

"You? Oh hell no. You've been amazing. The pair of you raised your son to be upright and understanding young man. Quite frankly, I expected your son to be the light's version of Malfoy until I spoke with Tonks."

James and Lily stare at me in horror.

"What? He's the most famous wizard in the world? Who wouldn't turn into a giant prick because of it? Lording his bloody hyphenated title over all?"

Lily gives me an odd look at that statement.

"Instead, he's a humble, forthright young man who works for everything he does. He wants to be Harry Potter, not the Boy-Who-Lived. And I will do my damnedest to make sure he's Harry Potter, not the Boy-Who-Lived."

To say I'm proud of James and Lily is an understatement.

"It'd have been better if he'd grown up with his sister," says James.

I sigh. And thus, we find the real reason. I now understand why Snape hates James, as well.

"I honestly thought the worst of you when I found Jessica," I reply. "I thought you'd purposely abandoned her there. I should've realised it was Dumbledore's fault, but, well... You had the Boy-Who-Lived. Why keep his younger sister?"

A shudder goes through both of them, and they don't defend themselves. Guilt and shame.

"I'm sorry, that was cruel."

"I... can understand where that thought comes from," says Lily. "It's hard to see the best in people, given what Tonks said about you."

"Is there anything else?" I rather pointedly ask.

They get the hint that Tonks is a sore topic, and soon take their leave.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:** Really, the Veela Brothel is there simply because only Harry would have to deal with that sort of crap, and I found it hilarious. That, and Harry would want to find some form of... err... manliness (shall we say). And we find some of the reasons that James doesn't like Jamie, and maybe some of the reasons Lily is trying to be friends with her. Not sure what else to say about this chapter.


	8. Chapter the 7th: You Should Know Better

Disclaimer: No. I don't own Harry Potter. I wouldn't mind Luna Lovegood, though.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Seventh – You Should Know Better by Now**

0x0x0x0

It's a few days later, when Harry is hiding in my classroom after dinner, that Narcissa Malfoy arrives to speak with me.

"Hello Mrs. Malfoy, please step into my office. Hedwig, keep an eye on Mr. Potter."

Hedwig nods, ignoring Harry in favour of some godawful romance novel. She's been avoiding me all winter break, especially after I said I wasn't going to the Potter Christmas party. She's up to something. I'll worry about it later. Right now, I get to play cat and mouse with a goddamn lioness in a snake's skin.

"So, Mrs. Malfoy, to what do I owe this pleasure?" I say, taking my seat behind my desk, unconcerned with her. The basilisk skull barely gets to her. It's amusing to watch.

"It is to my understanding that my son has seen an inordinate number of detentions with you," began Narcissa. "I am curious as to why."

I lean back in my chair, and stare her directly in the eyes as I speak.

"The reason your son serves so many detentions with me, is actually rather frustrating on my part, and I hope you will help me with it." Actually, no I don't find it frustrating. Malfoy was always a gigantic twat, especially after he married Astoria. What man names their son Scorpius? I mean, really. _Scorpius._ That he regularly rubbed it in my face at the occasional society ball I bothered with attending was just icing on the cake. "Your son's grades are impressive. He regularly performs EE work, with the occasional O. Those two bookends that he spends time with don't help, mind you."

"His father's decision," replies Narcissa. "Get to your point, Evans."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Fine. I'll be blunt. I've assigned your son enough essays to make sure that he has a brain in his skull, and that he knows how to use it. I just don't understand why he stops using it once he leaves a classroom."

Narcissa looks at me in silence. She expects a demonstration.

"Fine, we'll use Mister Potter," I say, and we both head back into my classroom. "Mister Potter, we're going to give a demonstration on common stupidity. You've been exposed to enough to have some base understanding of it, so follow me."

There's a snort from Hedwig, as Harry frowns and walks with us out into the hallway.

"Mister Potter, I'm afraid you'll have to stand in for Mister Malfoy for this demonstration. Stand there. Mrs. Malfoy, I'm afraid you'll have to stand in for Miss Granger, and stand there." I position them how I came across Draco insulting Hermione in the hallway. "I, naturally, will stand in for myself." I give both of them a sarcasm laden smile. "Now, from these positions, Mister Potter, call Mrs Malfoy a mudblood whore, if you don't mind?"

"Er- No?" replies Potter.

"Thank you, Mister Potter, five points to Gryffindor for not offending my sensibilities and following the blatantly stupid orders of authority. Mrs. Malfoy, the reason your son has so repeatedly served detention with me, is because once he steps foot out of the classroom, he turns into a _blithering idiot_."

She glares at Harry, and Harry looks to me.

"Back into the classroom."

He nods, and then walks back into the classroom. I wait a moment, holding up my hand to signal to Mrs. Malfoy to wait a moment.

"AND CLOSE THE DOOR."

The door closes. I roll my eyes.

"I apologize, but I often find the simplest demonstrations to be the best, Mrs. Malfoy. That was how I found your son two days ago. He paid absolutely no attention to my presence, and whined about how his father would deal with me."

At this, Mrs. Malfoy nodded.

"I informed him, rather plainly, that he was performing conduct unbecoming of a Malfoy, and that his father would put him over his knee if _that_ weren't conduct unbecoming of a Malfoy."

I see the barest glimmer of a smirk on Narcissa's lips.

"He honestly doesn't seem to understand it!" I add, throwing my arms up in the air. "I apologize for disparaging your heir, but he's an obnoxious little shit with no understanding of how the world actually works. He seems to believe that if he snaps his fingers, someone will clean up his mess and wipe his arse for him."

The smirk actually does visibly form on her lips as she watches me rant about her son.

"Is there something you find amusing, Mrs. Malfoy?" I ask, recognising that look.

"Please, call me Narcissa, Miss Evans."

"Then call me Jamie, Narcissa. Shall we discuss this over tea?"

She smiles and nods.

0x0x0x0

Important fact I have just learned: Narcissa is a favoured customer of Bernadette.

Small world.

No, we don't have sex. I'm not an idiot. She does try to seduce me. In the process, she mentions that she received a very interesting product demonstration from Bernadette earlier this week, and wanted to thank me for my work.

Personally.

She even brought along one of said products if we wanted to test it together.

I defend myself professionally.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I will not be intimate with one of my student's parents, and I will not be intimate with a married woman."

She sighs, and then smiles.

"Andromeda was right about you. And she's right to be angry with our idiotic cousin. Do hex him a few times for me, will you?" At this, she smiles, we exchange closing pleasantries and she leaves.

And now I know why she was here. Just to test me.

Christ!

0x0x0x0

The Weasley twins have detention with me on Saturday. Their punishment?

They're helping with my little tea parties.

Wearing lacy, frilly French Maid Costumes.

Misery loves company.

I give them an evil grin before we start.

"Gentleman, and I use that term extremely loosely with you two, I would like to remind you. You will act as you're supposed to, or else."

One of them, Fred, is stupid enough to ask, "Or else what?"

I give a wave of my hand, and both of them wince, and start to whimper. Knees knock together, but neither of them actually fall.

"Any questions?" I ask.

Both of them shake their heads as they get used to the increased tightness below their frilly skirts.

I am a cruel and terrible person. This I freely admit to.

The girls are pleasantly amused by the participation of the Weasley Twins, and I don't have to perform any reminders on them, as the conversation avoids their presence. There are several light smiles on the Slytherin girls. Davis has been joined by Greengrass, and Adrian Pucey's younger sister Mathilda. She's a second year, and was dragged into this by Teresa Edgecome, Marietta's cousin in Ravenclaw. Definitely a family house, there.

Sally-Anne and Mathilda are actually having a discussion on the differences between Muggle and Wizarding fairy tales. There's some overlap with the Brothers Grimm, apparently. Hermione looks like she wants to join in, but keeps to talking with the two girls next to her, Su Li and Lisa Turpin, about differences in methods of procuring potions ingredients, and their resulting effects on brews.

Is it wrong I find it frightening that a bunch of first years are discussing something that's over my head?

0x0x0x0

"Alright you two, you're free to go," I say, as the twins put the last of the dishes on the drying rack next to the sink.

"Err… there a chance our clothes will be changed back?" asks George.

"Changed back?" I ask, acting confused.

"You know, our school robes?" asks Fred, the horror of what I'm about to make them do dawning on them.

I scratch my head, not entirely understanding what they're asking.

"Are you going to change them back?"

"No," I reply. "Why would I?"

They stand there in silence. George tugs at the lacy hem of his shirt, while Fred stands in confused horror.

"Be thankful I'm not making you walk back like this," I add, and then make their skirts end mid-thigh rather than ankle-length, showing off the pink nylons I made them wear, followed by raising their heels of their shoes by two inches. "Oh, wait. Now I am. Have a good day, gentleman." I give them both a big smile, and then disillusion myself while making a run for it. My cackle of sadistic glee echoes through the corridors of the school, while they try (and fail) to chase after me, shouting indignantly.

We are on the third floor. The evening meal let out five minutes ago. Students are steadily filling the hallways, as no one wants to go outside.

Best of all? I mentioned to Harry on Friday that he should wait in the common room with a Wizarding Camera.

0x0x0x0

Harry delivered the camera, and we both have a nice, long laugh at the pictures of an embarrassed Weasley Twins trying to sneak into the common room.

Complete failure.

They take it like the drag queens they are, and have a good laugh about it, but I know they're plotting humiliation and vengeance. Given how often I test my food (a habit that Minerva considers uncouth) I doubt they'll get me from that direction. We'll have to see how it goes, now won't we?

"Alright, Mister Potter, back to your common room with you," I say, having duplicated the pictures.

Harry is smiling as he leaves, and waves hello to Tonks. Tonks smiles and nods at him, the anxiousness in her face self-evident after Harry leaves. Hedwig is perched on her shoulders, giving me a very Snape-like sneer.

I clasp my hands, elbows on the desk, and rest my chin on my hands. I'd conjure a pair of orange sunglasses, but I can't grow a beard anymore. One must always pay homage to the classics, even if they don't exist yet.

"Knock it off," says Hedwig.

"Hedwig-"

"Sirius didn't ban you two from talking, you goddamn idiot," barks out Hedwig. "Your self-esteem and ego once more causes you to sky-dive to conclusions."

"You know, you've been hanging around Snape a little too much."

Hedwig rolls her eyes.

"Sirius really didn't stop us from talking," says Tonks.

"Then why did he spend the entire damn dinner insulting me," I ground out, my hands still clasped.

"He wasn't!" says Tonks. "He… he was making fun of me."

I'm silent for a long moment. I'm also disbelieving.

I receive another death-sneer from Hedwig, as she flaps her wings, silently landing on my desk, and giving me a swat with her wings. She motions me to stand up.

Sodding bird has always been smarter than me, so I listen to her.

"If it makes you feel better, I decked him."

Tonks gives a small smile, as I walk around the desk, taking a seat on it.

"So now what?" I ask, curious.

"Well… um," she begins. She's cute when she's shy, not that I'll ever say-

Oh. Maybe I will.

She kisses me.

Maybe I won't stab fate too many times.

She draws back, because I'm a little too surprised to properly respond. She starts that stuttering fear that I sometimes get when I feel like I've done something stupid.

So I fix that by gently taking hold of her (hah, that's a lie, I grab her like I don't want to let go - which, maybe, I don't) and bring her to me.

I'm a better kisser than she is, and she knows it. I don't know how many boys she's kissed, or girls for that matter, but she definitely likes it. I send a locking charm at the door as we fall or collapse or something onto my desk.

"Why Miss Tonks, are you taking advantage of me?" I ask, amused, when we break for some air.

"I think I might," she replies.

0x0x0x0

We don't have sex. We don't even remove any clothing. I do, however, know how to put a broom closet under a Fidelius Charm. Mostly because we didn't quite want to make it back to my quarters for a bit more in-depth investigation of each other. That and it'll annoy Flich.

The more I think about it, the more I realise I never did manage to snog in a broom closet. I suppose it's silly, but I'm young again. I should have youthful indiscretions.

0x0x0x0

Minerva and Sirius are both insufferably smug when I enter the Great Hall for the evening meal. I only know Minerva is smug because of my experience with the old battle-axe. Sirius, however, spends the rest of the meal as a French poodle. With bows on. Frilly pink ones.

I sit next to Severus, and ask what potions make use of dogs, a subject he can expound upon for a _very_ long time.

0x0x0x0

Dinner with the Tonks family (sans Sirius) is a much better time. It's more personable, and less like some sort of carnival side-show.

"Mother!"

"Now, Dora, I just want to be sure you're using protection. I don't want to be a grandmother yet."

I'm not entirely certain how that's supposed to work.

"I didn't even tell her!" says Tonks.

"Tell me what?" I ask.

They both look at me, and I realise they put up a silencing charm that I wasn't supposed to instinctively modify so that I could listen in. Oops.

"Sorry, paranoid habit," I add.

"Err-," begins Tonks, as Andromeda modifies the charm to cover the entire table.

"You're aware my daughter is a metamorphmagus?"

"Of course," I reply, digging into Madam Rosemerta's Treacle Tart. Oh, it's been far too long. A wave of my finger has Tonks' pink fringe jump into the air. "A little difficult to not figure out, if you ask me," I say, and she pokes me in response.

"Are you aware of the… gender ramifications this entails?" she asks.

"Ah… no, not really."

"I'm sort of listed as 'other,'" says Tonks.

On this, I am quite silent.

"So… does that mean you have both?"

Tonks nods.

"Fully functional?"

She nods again.

I take another bite of treacle tart as I take a moment to think. It's a long moment, so I take another bite. I final come to the only inevitable conclusion. I note that Ted is sitting across from me in an embarrassed silence through all of this. It also raises interesting questions about Remus that I don't feel like ever asking.

I recall the feeling of Bernadette inside me, and realise I wouldn't be against Tonks doing something similar. It might take a little getting used to, but if anything can be said, I adapt to whatever bullshit fate dumps on me with terrifying ease. Besides, there is an obvious benefit to all of this.

"I suppose this means I'm having the children," I say, giving voice to that benefit.

Tonks attempts to break a few of my ribs via hug. I pat her on the back, my fork hanging in mid-air with treacle tart still on it.

"Thank you," she whispers.

0x0x0x0

Valentine's Day is probably the most annoying day of the year, and it is why I'm horribly tempted to barricade myself in my office. Even when I was pushing sixty, I received unending valentines, marriage contracts, filthy pictures along with marriage contracts, requests for hair/blood/semen/all-of-the-above, and anonymous love notes.

I think it was the anonymous love notes that were the worst, frankly. Many of them were endearing, some of them beautiful. It was the reason I read them.

The contracts I burned.

The filthy pictures I generally just scanned and posted on the internet. I was actually considering putting together a pay site for "Victorian Ladies of Low Morality," at least until I lost my hand. Then I sobered up.

The world was far more difficult when sober, but I did a much better job of dealing with it then.

I wish I still had those notes though.

Instead, I have what's piled nearby my breakfast plate. Most of its from the seventh years, although there's a smattering of notes all the way down to the fourth years, and a certain pair of third years. Most of them are just anonymous, but a few of them made an attempt to mask their handwriting. The Weasley Twins, of course, included some sort of potion in theirs. I levitate it to Snape, along with two notes covered in a contact attraction cream. Let him have fun with those.

The rest… well, the rest I examine with a professional's eye. I sort most of them into a pile, and light them all on fire. Empty platitudes, worthless gestures, and vacant prose. A waste of parchment that's better as ashes. There's an anonymous note, professionally done to hide the creator (not well enough, but I don't endeavour to determine who), it's actually somewhat nice. I keep it.

The final ones are the ones I mark by hand, identifying the authors from handwriting, magical analysis, and even an odd fingerprinting charm I learned in Japan. I hand those to Minerva.

She examines the letters with a disgust I don't show on my face, and then reads my note on top. She nods, and then hands back the letters.

I sit back in my chair, and smile.

0x0x0x0

Tonks, apparently, is a romantic. So much so, that I have flowers waiting for me at dinner.

I smirk at them, then at her, and kiss her anyways.

I'm not one for romance. For most of my life, Valentine's Day was that day other people went out and did stuff. It's… weird to do stuff on it. Especially without-

Hmm. That's going to make next year troubling. Or maybe just weird.

Enough about that.

I'm in the here and now. I've mourned. I'm past it (uh-huh. Sure I am. I stepped back in time, didn't I?) (Of course I'm past it. She's alive. She won't die. And maybe she'll still snag the Boy-Who-Lived. Or maybe not? That's an improvement, right?)

Either way, we chat idly about work.

"How's this for weird?" begins Tonks. "You know who Rabastan and Rodolphus LeStrange are, right?"

I nod. I should hope so.

"Well, it turns out they died in prison."

"Alright."

"Here's the kicker. Bellatrix, my dear and wonderful aunt, escaped."

"Really?"

"They think somebody broke her out, because there was a false corpse, and a bit of tricky charms and potions work. It happened back in July. Fortunately, the Dementors realised it was a fake, and only just got around to telling us."

Huh. Hadn't realised they could do that. I guess I shouldn't be surprised though.

"So any leads on who did it?"

"Not really. The weird part, though, is this. Bellatrix went to Diagon Alley, and emptied her vault."

"Alright."

"And then she was murdered by the Goblins."

"That's… strange." Not surprising. They were nice enough to do a fair amount for me. I figured I'd give them the benefit of the doubt.

"They didn't tell anyone?"

"No, they wouldn't tell the ministry if it was on fire. We had to ask about it. That's not the big worry, though. The big worry is where all the money went, and who Bellatrix gave it to before she died."

"Something I'm sure the Malfoys want to find out, very badly."

"According to the scuttlebutt in the department, yeah."

I nod, sagely.

"So should I mention anything about your crazy aunt?" she asks, joking.

I close my eyes and sigh. I should have figured this would happen. I mean, what should I have expected, trying to date an Auror-Trainee? All my own fault, really.

"Oh, no," whispers Tonks.

"Ask Lily and James about the cup," I say.

"What?"

"Please. Before you do anything, please ask Lily and James about the cup."

I can feel her eyes staring at me.

"Why?"

"Who are you going to believe? Me? Or them?"

She's silent. At least she's not screaming, or trying to arrest me.

"Why the cup?"

"It was in Bellatrix vault," I reply. "Please talk with them. Please at least understand why I did it, and why it had to be done. And…" I actually open my eyes, to look at her. She's a mixture of confused, worried, and anxious. I can see it in her face, in her body. The cycling of colours in her hair, the intermixed white and green telling me all I need to know.

I sigh, and give her a sad smile.

"It was nice, I guess, to be normal for a little while." I shake my head, angry with myself. "I shouldn't be surprised. I can't be happy, you know? Good luck Tonks, with everything. You'll probably hate me soon enough."

I get up, pay for the meal, and leave her.

Occlumency is great for making sure you look like nothing's wrong.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes: **So close... and then it all falls apart. Again.


	9. Chapter the 8th: Truth Wins Out

Disclaimer: If you think I own this, I've got some nice beachfront property in Kansas I can sell you.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Eighth – Truth Wins Out**

0x0x0x0

Both Minerva and Sally-Anne realise something's wrong by the end of the fifteenth. Damn them both.

Minerva remains quiet, waiting to see if it effects my performance, and unsure of just what to do. Sally-Anne gives me a hug after class. I smile, and thank her.

I need to talk to her foster parents, but… we'll wait to see what the fallout of this is.

0x0x0x0

Four Slytherins, six Ravenclaws, and one particularly retarded Gryffindor.

The Gryffindor didn't try anything to cover his tracks.

Three Slytherins used block lettering, and the fourth made an attempted forgery by hand, trying to lay the blame on a sixth year Hufflepuff.

All six Ravenclaws used variations on a single forgery charm, and all six of them were jealous of my age, knowledge, and skills. Four of them were in seventh year, and two in sixth.

All of them are surprised they were caught. Honestly.

They are standing in my classroom. The notes are spread across my desk.

Minerva is, once more, under the Potter cloak at the back of the class. She knows my funk isn't from the death threats, but wants to make sure I don't take it out on them with my wand.

Sirius and Filius were both livid at the staff meeting on the sixteenth, and even more livid when I stated I'd deal with all of the students on my own. Severus was merely quiet, and nodded curtly at my statement.

It's a quiet five minutes, filled with fidgeting, before I start to talk.

"Children," I begin. My tone is insulting. I'm talking down to them, like they're five. As far as I'm concerned, they are. "Each and every one of you is the worst insult imaginable against your own house. Mister Pierce, your brash and stupid plan demonstrates the thoughtless, brainless actions that only a Gryffindor could achieve."

I point to the group of Ravenclaws.

"You six. Your plan was exactly the same. You all used variations on the same charm. Your witless, idiotic incompetence is shadowed only by your lack of individuality. You are nothing more than copies of the same text, that which has been endlessly copied into meaningless scribbles upon a crumbling page. You are all buffoons, playing at a game meant for geniuses. Children, playing a game for adults-"

"You aren't any older than I am!" shouts one of the Ravenclaws.

"Which does not change the fact that you are an ignorant child, Mister Brocklehurst. One who does not know to wait his turn. Your mother did teach you to wait your turn, didn't she? How to wait in line for something? Or are you just another ignorant pureblood, believing everything and everyone belongs to you? Not a very intelligent belief, if you ask me."

Brocklehurst, along with the others, holds his tongue.

"If I were a child, Mister Brocklehurst, you would be expelled. Each of you has threatened my life. As stupid, meaningless, and foolhardy as these threats are, McGonagall still has every right to have Hagrid drag you by the scruff of your neck, and throw you out the front gate like the ignorant dogs you are barely more intelligent than."

"Instead, I have asked her for leniency. Each of you, at this moment, are a black mark on the Pride and Name of Hogwarts Herself. Each of you are an insult to this institution, something far grander than any of us. Each of you would attempt to take Her name, and drag it through mud and sludge, just because you are petty, jealous fools."

I give them a moment to let that sink in, then turn to the Slytherins.

"Your attempts were mundane, unimaginative, and without skill. Your pathetic beliefs as to your own cunning are more amusement than actually worrying. The fact that you even tried to warn me of my supposedly impending doom is an embarrassment to your house. Do not make threats unless you are actually capable of fulfilling them."

"I assure you, none of you are capable."

The glare I give them, along with a simple cooling charm, makes them shiver. I get to their actual punishment.

"Each of you have detention with me. Five in the morning, Monday through Friday, until you have completed the two exercises I will assign for your detention. If you are not in this classroom at Five AM, I will not attempt to find you. Instead, I will merely use the summoning charm, and your injuries resulting from this are you own problem. During these detentions, you will receive instruction in silent and wandless casting."

They looked at each other, thinking this won't be that bad, when one of the Slytherins asks the million dollar question.

"How will we be learning?"

"An unexpectedly intelligent question. For silent casting, your feet will be stuck to the floor, your mouths covered in spello-tape, and I will cast stinging charms at you until you successfully cast a Protego. Your wandless casting, as you might imagine, will be similar."

I got this from a deranged Romanian Dark Lord, whose method was somewhat similar. Instead of the Protego, he required the disarming charm; mostly because instead of stinging hexes, he cast the Cruciatus. To my understanding, he generally cast it with a visible erection.

There were some people I was more than happy to remove from God's Green Earth.

"If you fail, you fail. You do not graduate Hogwarts. The sixth years will be expelled. Is that understood?"

They all swallow.

I dismiss them.

"Was that acceptable, Minerva?" I ask.

"I think I mind your threat of the summoning charm, but I question if even you can summon another person from somewhere else in the castle. I do request, however, that you give them five minutes to arrive before casting that charm."

I nod, but let it go.

0x0x0x0

When they arrive the first morning, all of them are on-time or early. I lead them out into one of the school's many and various courtyards, and inform them they'll be meeting me here every morning from now on.

Sally-Anne is incensed with me about my punishment for the Idiot's Eleven, as I've started to call them, at least until I tell her what they're being punished for. Then she starts showing up to help cast the stinging charms.

"Come on! I can do this, why can't you?" she asks of them, all the while casting charm after charm. I'd say something about this, but Pomona gives her full permission for it to happen, citing something about "breaking her out of her shell."

It's Pierce, of course, that I have to summon from Gryffindor Tower at the midway through week one. His screaming wakes half the castle, as he's dragged from his bed and around the outside of the castle. I levitate him, and leave him in the courtyard, shaking in terror, and cast a warming charm on him so he doesn't freeze to death. Then I start casting stinging hexes on him until he realises what's going on.

It takes fifteen minutes.

Minerva, at least, no longer doubts the veracity of claims towards my summoning charm.

All four Slytherins get the silent casting down within the first week, while Pierce gets the wandless casting within two days. None of the Ravenclaws figure it out, and none of the other students in the school are helping them figure out their problem. Either I'm well liked, or nobody wants to get on my bad side. I'll take what I can get.

Sally-Anne eventually does start to take pity on them, and begins to help them. Except, well, I think I've been rubbing off on her.

"I can't do it, I can't do it!" she whines in a childish voice. "Little wonder you can't do it, if you keep saying you can't do it! Quit listening to yourself whine, and cast the spell!"

One of the Slytherins, Flint's older brother Garrett, is the first to get it down both ways. He's soon followed by the other three Slytherins and Pierce.

That leaves the six Ravenclaws, in the third week, unable to perform either way. Hermione informs me they can always be found in the library, examining whatever literature they can find on wandless and silent magic. The one useful book in the library is presently sitting in the top-right drawer of my desk. Madam Pince agreed to this solely because McGonagall signed off on it.

Really, there's no use to it. Sally-Anne did actually give the best advice on the matter. The problem is none of the Ravenclaws are willing to listen to a person, and instead have to read it from a fucking book. Ravenclaws are (predominately) dumb like that. It's the reason Hermione's in Gryffindor, I realise.

Luna, as I understand it, went into Ravenclaw because her family's always been in Ravenclaw. I could see her in Hufflepuff, really.

We'll see how long it'll take before they crack.

0x0x0x0

The invitation is for the Potters. It openly states Tonks will be there. I suppose Sirius hasn't gotten through the Obliviation yet.

This… isn't it, but it's certainly going to come close. Not late enough in the year to be the surprise. I'm still waiting for it.

I sigh, and have Hedwig tell them I'll be there. She's occasionally missing again. I think she's been visiting Tonks. Or the Potters. I'm not rightly sure at this point. I don't begrudge her of this. She looks out for me, far better than I ever could.

It is thusly that I find myself in Godric's Hollow, staring at a cottage that I've never seen truly whole. The Ministry actually took the cottage, claiming it as a historical site. When I took the deed to them, they stated it was under the prevue of the historic landmarks act of 1782, which was passed to prevent some random descendent of Slytherin from claiming rights to all of Hogwarts, and they'd used it on me. The house had been in the Potter family for five centuries, and it was stolen by the Ministry. I checked the paperwork, and there, at the very bottom, was Dumbledore's signature.

I was unsurprised. By that point I'd already found and questioned his journal.

What was one more betrayal on his part?

He must have seen it as a stroke of genius, cutting me off from everything my family ever owned, including the family house. I couldn't access the family vaults without my guardian's permission, and my legal guardians were Petunia and Vernon. Except, because they were Muggles, they couldn't receive any banking statements from Gringotts, let alone set foot in a vault. They never knew about the money they were supposed to receive. In fact, they never received any of the funds set aside for my caretaker. Gringotts regulations, to "prevent damage to the wizarding economy."

The goblins are on my shitlist. Greedy little fuckers, the lot of them. I just don't have a good enough excuse right now to burn the fuckers to ash.

I enter the graveyard, my feet crunching on the snow, and walk through it. I ignore Ignotus' grave, and instead look down at the simple tombstone of Remus Lupin. _Friend, Brother, and Protector_, it reads.

He's buried here, because the Lupin family refused to take him. I learned that James had set aside plots for Sirius and Remus, since their families refused them, when Remus and Tonks were buried together.

That Tonks... That Tonks is dead. Along with Andromeda and Teddy. And Hermione, and Ron, and Fred and George and-

Can't happen now. IT CAN'T HAPPEN NOW.

I quiet myself. It's been a few years since my head tried to run away from me. I'm almost tempted to find the ring, but it's hidden right now. I'd have to go and get it, and by then I'd realise how stupid I'm being. Better to just save myself the trouble and not try.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to the gravestone, and head back to the cottage. I can see the lines of new versus old material, where the house was rebuilt.

Hedwig lands on my shoulder, and I walk up to the door to knock. I can feel the wards pressing down on me. They don't like me. I suppose being cast out of the Potters is the reason, but I ignore it. Azkaban is worse.

I suppose I'll have to explain how I broke Bella out, too. Bugger. Well, I suppose that's what I get for meeting two Aurors.

I knock twice, and James opens the door. He doesn't smile at me, and his wand is in his hand. I'm horribly tempted to use the cliché of "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now," but somehow I think it'll fall flat. Instead, I'm vaguely nice.

"Hello, Mister Potter. I suppose I have a fair amount to explain?"

"That you do. I don't suppose if I attempt to arrest you, you'll come quietly?"

"Not in the slightest," I reply. "Nearly everything I did over the summer, I did without regret."

"Nearly?" asks Lily.

"I didn't kill Albus personally, but I doubt I'd have been able to pull it off. By the way, thanks for not doing anything to the Dursleys."

"Why?" asks James, glaring at me.

I smile. It's an evil smile. Sally-Anne recognizes it, now.

"If we can borrow McGonagall's Pensieve, you can find out. Can I come in, or are we going to talk though the front door?"

"Let her in, James," says Lily.

I step into a house I've never seen whole. Both of them realise I'm looking around, and I can barely keep the awe from my face. I see pictures, photos, artwork, and other things that I partially recognise from my own trip through the house, or don't recognise at all. They don't make the connection, though. They lead me to a sitting room. Tonks is calm and collected, but openly curious. Hedwig flits over to her. She smiles at Hedwig, a little, and gives me a small smile. Not sure what it means, though.

I retrieve a bottle of extraordinarily expensive scotch from my coat, and place it on the table.

"I figured we'd need it," I say.

"How did you get this?" asks James, his eyes bugging out as he reads the label.

"I liberated it from Lucius," I reply, "When I was getting the diary. The man has entirely too many things. I've also got a few bottles of burgundy, but this seems more of a getting drunk sort of event."

The others nod, and James provides shot glasses.

"Breaking your vow?" asks Hedwig.

"Wasn't much of a vow," I reply, pouring it out, and taking my first (and only, sadly) shot. "Besides, I only drink when it's appropriate."

Parts of my palette that haven't seen use in nearly two decades kick in, and I savour the burn. I feel like a drowning man whose been thrown a life preserver. I know better, and banish the glass.

"So, where do you want me to start?" I ask.

"How did you break Bella out of Azkaban?"

"I'm an animagus. The Dementors ignore you entirely in animal form. It's the reason known animagi have inhibitor runes carved into their skin by the Unspeakables."

James and Lily nod, while Tonks is surprised.

"If you ask, on July 19th, there was a very thin but happy woman handing out candy in Diagon Alley. She had violet eyes."

"And how did you pull that off?" asks Lily.

"Possession," I reply.

There's a shudder through Lily, which tells me she knows what I'm talking about. I know how much possession hurts, and the sort of damage it does to the host. Quirrell wasn't killing Unicorns to keep Voldemort alive. He was killing them to keep himself alive. I was actually able to put on some damn body mass after losing the Horcrux, rather than be a skinny little thing.

"And you murdered Dumbledore," says James.

"He murdered Jessica first, and his mistakes killed the few people I ever cared about."

"I guess, but-," begins James.

"How?" asks Lily, cutting off her husband.

"Voldemort," I reply, watching them flinch. I snort. "He's Albus' fault. I know I told you, Lily. Did you talk with Bathilda?"

"I did... she mentioned her nephew, and how close the two of them were. The thing about... about Tom, though. How can you be sure?"

"The prophecy?" I ask.

Tonks looks at me questioningly, but Hedwig whispers to her, "she'll get to it, don't worry," while Lily nods. I can tell she's fighting the Fidelius. Unfortunately, the damn thing can hide your own home from you. I actually did that to Draco, once, as a prank. Narcissa was the secret keeper, actually. Lily's not going to win against it.

"We'll get to that. Don't bother thinking about it. It's a _secret_. But I'll explain as best I can." I cut my palm, and dribble some blood onto the coaster I'm using. The blood rolls across it, forming runes, and the runes burn themselves into the coaster. James and Tonks stare at it, wide-eyed, recognizing the runes for what they are. The magic itself is illegal, but it can be authorized for high profile cases. Which translates to "not mine," but still. "It'll probably burn out by the end of the night, but it's better than breaking out Unbreakable Vows and Veritaserum, right?"

"What is it?" asks Lily.

"While this thing's active, you can't lie. You don't have to tell the truth, but you can't lie."

"You can't do that in thirty seconds on a coaster!" shouts James.

"Sure you can. You just have to practice. Now, storytime. It starts with the birth of a boy named Harry James Potter, on July 31st, 1980-"

"But Ha-" begins Lily before I cut her off with a finger.

"I'm telling a story, here, and it's not a pleasant one." I eye the whiskey bottle like it's my only hope, but I know better. "Fucking terrible one, really. October 31st, 1981, his parents are betrayed by Peter Pettigrew, and Voldemort pops up on their doorstep. When he stands near Dementors, he can hear his parent's final words. One says 'Lily, take Harry and run!' while his mother begs a man with a cold, cruel laugh to spare her son and kill her instead. And then there's a flash of green.

"Peter frames Sirius by faking his death, and murdering twelve muggles in the process. Sirius is thrown in prison sans trial, because Albus doesn't want anybody actually questioning him. Godric's Hollow is repossessed by the ministry under the Historic Sites Act, and the Potter vaults are sealed. Young Harry is taken, and left on the doorstep of Petunia and Vernon Dursley. I think we all know roughly how that goes."

"I don't," says Tonks.

"Think about my back, Tonks."

She shivers, and I continue.

"Vernon Dursley is as upright and upstanding as he can be. Obviously, that means when he receives a freak of a nephew that he can't get rid of, he needs to treat that freak like the freak he is. A freak needs to earn his keep, cooking and cleaning, but keeping out of sight. Freaks don't need to eat as much as regular people. Freaks don't deserve actual beds, let alone actual bedrooms. Instead, they're kept with all the other tools, in the broom cupboard under the stairs."

I don't check people's faces for disgust. This is probably the first time I've ever really told anyone any of this.

"When he asks, he's informed his parents were unemployed drunks, and were killed in a car crash. It was, perhaps, the important distinction between Harry and Jessica. Jessica was told her parents didn't love her, because she was a freak, and abandoned her. Both were alone and unloved, but one was due to circumstance, and the other due to outright abandonment."

I shake my head, freeing myself from dark thoughts.

"Young Harry gets a little adventure when his letter arrives, and Hagrid shows him to Diagon Alley to make sure Harry understands that Gryffindors are good, and Slytherins are bad. Albus can't have his hero in Slytherin, now can he? When he arrives at the station, he befriends the youngest Weasley boy, Ron. After all, you can't find better, more Gryffindor people anywhere else, right?"

I laugh.

"The hat actually asks him if he wants to be sorted into Slytherin. Should have been his first hint something was wrong. He doesn't make any friends, beyond Ron, until Halloween. He'd hoped this Halloween would be better than others, but no. Quirrell snuck a troll into the school. Ron had said something nasty to another student, Hermione Granger, earlier in the day, and they went off to warn her about the troll since she'd spent the day crying in the bathroom. Except, well, they found the troll. They survive, and now they're Gryffindors Golden Trio."

I continue, giving the horrifically short cliff-notes version of my "adventures." There are a number of gasps, horrified stares, and epiphanies to keep us busy for a while. Lily takes notes. I highlight any time Dumbledore shows his true colours. My personal favourite? The night of the prophecy, when he says he knows I was abused.

_"… you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well – not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."_

I follow that up with _"… you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well."_

And then, the real kicker. The true level of bullshit that he spilled.

_"I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed... you were alive, and well, and happy."_

"Happiness?" I say, out loud. "Harry Potter wouldn't have known happiness if it bit him in the ass. Dumbledore even stated that Harry wasn't happy, and yet claimed he thought of Harry's happiness when he didn't want to burden him. He spoke of how love, the great and almighty power of love, forever studied but never understood by the Department of Mysteries, would win the day for Harry Potter against Voldemort. Harry, sadly, was not cynical enough to ask the question 'How the bloody fuck does a boy that you acknowledge as regularly beaten by his own family know what the bloody fuck love is?'

"The answer, I have always felt, lies in the prophecy. If Harry Potter were to be happy, truly happy, he would be _living_, and not _surviving_."

I continue onwards, ever onwards from that fan-fucking-tastically terrible night.

"And so, it culminates to a simple, horrible action. Harry Potter walks into the forest to have Voldemort kill him, so that someone else can kill the bastard. And he does. He uses the stone so that his parents, his godfather, and the man he considered an uncle walk with him. He thinks he feels safe and happy in the knowledge that only he has to die, and the dark wanker will, too. He takes another Killing Curse right to the forehead. He finds himself in the place in-between, and Albus Sodding Dumbledore is there, and presents him with a choice. He can go on, or he can go back, and try to finish everything.

"He also learns that Albus, quite simply, figured that Harry would survive the way he _always_ survived. His worthless fucking luck." I shake my head at the stupidity of it all, while my audience listens in abject horror.

"Through a chain of events of Dickensian Proportions, Harry was Master of the Elder Wand, while Voldemort merely _believe_ himself the Master. And since the wand refuses to harm its master, it only killed the piece of Voldemort in Harry's forehead. Harry, after coming back from death itself to save everyone like a knock-off Jesus, attempts to duel Voldemort.

"Because Voldemort wields a wand that refuses to kill its master, he dies on a technicality. Namely, another backfired killing curse. After the battle of Hogwarts, he becomes the Man-Who-Conquered, marries Ginny Weasley, and plans to have countless sprogs to drive whichever teachers take over utterly insane. Sadly… that doesn't happen. Because when the fuck can Harry Potter ever be happy?"

I sigh. Tonks starts at that statement. She recognizes it, adds two and two, and tries to get four.

"It starts with Neville and Augusta Longbottom. Murdered, brutally. Dark cutting curses all around. The weird part? No one's sure how it happens. Wards didn't fall. They were just found murdered. And there were messages for Harry. From Voldemort. He wasn't dead. Harry had missed a Horcrux. The murders continued. Andromeda Tonks and Teddy Lupin. Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood. The entire Weasley family. Hermione and Ron. Finally, it's just Harry and Ginny and... and James. Their son. And, of course, it's Halloween. Voldemort has nothing but the flare for the dramatic."

I'm leaning back in the chair at this point, sorely tempted by that blasted fucking bottle. Should have left it at Lucius'. I take a long sigh as James pours himself another shot. The coaster is starting to blacken around the edges. A block of granite would survive this spell for a month, and then only if the caster stays nearby.

"He'd retrieved the Elder Wand by this point. Being the idiot he is he'd placed it back in Albus' crypt, exactly where Voldemort stole it. He comes home that fateful Halloween night to find his son strangled in his crib. Not cursed, not spelled, but physically strangled. A note's been left. Voldemort's waiting for him at Albus' tomb. Harry arrives, and finds Ginny. Except she's talking with a double voice, until she looks Harry in the eye, and asks him..."

"'Harry. Please.'" I'd already quoted Dumbledore's words to Snape, and they look as green as I did when she'd unknowingly uttered them.

"And so, Harry casts the Killing Curse for the first time in his life. Except… she survives. By some quirk of the Elder Wand, sacrificial magic, and what colour of knickers she was wearing, Ginny survived. But she's been possessed for eight months."

"She's so sorry, even as she points to the wand in Harry's hand. After all, wouldn't Voldemort want to make sure it was his? Killing who he believed to be the old master, and using their death to bind himself to it? And so, Harry casts the last Killing Curse he will ever cast."

"The Elder Wand is clean. Undamaged, but clean."

"He takes her in his arms, and promises her forgiveness. And she forces him, begs and pleads with him, to live. That she can't go on, not after what she's been forced to witness, not after what's happened to her."

I take a long, deep, shuddering breath.

"It takes him forty years to figure out how to live up to that promise. Much of it is spent hunting dark wizards in all corners of the globe, learning magic so obscure and weird that it can't even be classified as dark, before he finally managed to do something so stupid, that only four people in history are known to have completed it. He braved the Angles of Time."

"That… that means," begins Lily, fighting the charm wholesale, now. I cast it. She can't win. Doesn't mean I want her like this, though.

"Hedwig, the secret, if you please, before Lily has an aneurism?"

"_Jamie Evans is the Girl-Who-Lived_," says Hedwig.

"Jessica?" asks James, everything crashing into his head, as he suddenly realises just how familiar I look. I'm busy pouring Lily a shot.

"I said she was dead," I reply, stomping that hope like a puppy underneath a steamroller. "They were metaphorical arms, but they were arms nonetheless."

"You're eighteen," says Lily.

"Probably sixteen, actually," I reply. "I didn't want to go too far with the aging potion."

"I made out with a sixty year old sixteen year old?" ask Tonks.

"Yeah," I say. "Sorry about that."

"Can we stay on topic?" asked Lily.

"I… umm… I guess?" says Tonks. "Suppose that explains why you were so good at it." She taps her finger to her chin for a moment, thinking. "I suppose we need to talk, huh?"

James closes his eyes, pureblood sensibilities telling him he doesn't want to hear this conversation. My guess is he's been filled in by Sirius on why he's letting Tonks date me. That doesn't mean he wants to hear it, though.

"Yeah," I say.

"What is wrong with you?" asks James. "Why don't you care about what she did?"

"Care? About what? That she murdered Dumbledore for being a manipulative, murderous shit? You said he cursed you guys to give up Jessica. If he hadn't done that, none of this would've happened."

On this, James is silent.

"Tonks, you seem to be taking this well," says Lily.

"Mum never liked Dumbledore," she replies. "Being in Slytherin does that. She always taught me to look out for everyone else, to really pay attention to what's going on, and never trust anyone that talks like sunshine and unicorns come out of their arse."

I blink. I hadn't expected that, although Andi and I never talked about Dumbledore. We mostly focused on Teddy. It doesn't surprise me, though. I could never pull the wool over Andi's eyes. I just assumed she knew Sirius.

"Why the hell were you a Hufflepuff?" I ask.

"Because Mum also told me that to get anywhere in life, you had to work for it."

"Yeah, that's Andi," I say, nodding.

James and Lily looked confused.

"What?" asks Tonks. "It's all pretty reasonable. And I had two weeks to think about it, too. Just think about the good parts, right?"

"So… we have back our daughter. Or our son. Or something," says Lily.

At this, both James and I wince. We look at each other, and he raises a questioning eyebrow. I give a barely visible nod, and he winces again.

"After you," I say, motioning to him.

"No, after you. You have the letter."

"What did you do, James?" asks Lily.

"Ah, but you performed the deed," I reply.

"True, however, it affected you the most."

"Not if your wife has anything to say about it," I reply.

"James. What did you do?" her voice hardens into ice, causing James to stop moving entirely. I retrieve a letter from within my jacket, and hand it to James.

"In his defence," I say, "it's an entirely reasonable action if you don't have the body."

Lily's left eyebrow twitches, once. The right eyebrow raises, and a palpable wave of anger rolls across the room.

"What. Did. You. Do, James Charlus Potter."

I look to Tonks, Tonks looks to me, and we both stand.

"Clearly, you have things to discuss. I'll put up the silencing charms, and we'll be elsewhere in the house. Tonks, perhaps you can show me to the kitchen?"

Tonks nods and we quickly leave. I do put up the silencing charm, a strong one at that.

"Lily isn't the yelling type," says Tonks.

"Didn't know that," I reply. "But this means I also don't have to hear James' screams when she murders him."

She nods in understanding as she leads me into the kitchen. There's a small round table, along with a variety of appliances. It looks well-furnished, but also well-used. Dishes are drying in a rack next to the sink, the butcher-block counters looked wiped down, but there are still stains in them, and the top of the stove needs either a really good cleaning charm or a very long scrubbing.

"So you thought I was straight?" she asks.

"Being married to Remus Lupin kind of made me think that, yeah. That and the whole lesbian-thing being frowned on didn't help."

"Lesbian-thing? What, you?"

I nod.

"We're a heterosexual couple, Jamie, because we aren't the same gender. It's people like me job applications have an 'other' option on the forms."

"Huh," I reply. "I've never really applied for a job, so it didn't much matter."

Tonks blinks at that.

"What did you do for work, then?"

"I started out as an Auror for the Ministry, before Ginny died. Kingsley was head of DMLE and he just threw me at the training. After Ginny, well, I quit. I went free-lance. I'd received enough money from killing Voldemort, that I could do whatever the hell I wanted, and I wanted to make sure nobody ever had to go through the shit I went through. I probably took down over… I don't know, close to two hundred and fifty Dark Lords? Drank a lot, built up a lot of scars, lost a hand, stopped drinking, hide myself away from the world studying magic man was not meant to know, and then, finally, made my choice, and braved the Angles. I should have listened to the warning a bit better, though."

"Warning?"

"Whatever you want done, you can't get it done."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I wanted my family back. James and Ginny. Stupid of me, really."

"No, it's… it's something to aim for. Something to aspire to."

"Something I can't get back," I add, leaning on the counter. "So why the hell is there an 'other' on applications if people can't change their gender?"

"Eunuchs, mostly," says Tonks. "Used to be a real status back in Roman times, and the ICW used it as a concession to get the Chinese to join. There's a few other odd governments that have recognized third genders, as well. That, and the occasional extra-weird potions accident."

I blink at that. It makes sense. A disturbing amount of sense, given how global the ICW is. Sure, I travelled pretty regularly to the New World, but I did a fair share of Dark Lord killing in the Far East. Granted, I'd never expect that level of rationality on the part of wizards, but then again, there's something to be said about a wizards lack of common sense.

"Huh," I say again, and then look at her. She's blushing, a little bit. I'm not surprised. I glance up at the entrance to the sitting room, and watch as Hedwig silently lands on the back of a kitchen chair.

"Lily finally realised I was there, when James kept giving me plaintive looks," she says. "She's mean when she's angry. Mostly, she's pissed because he didn't consult her about it. I think she's also pissed at you for hiding it from them. And me, because I was the secret keeper."

"Death Glare?" I ask.

"Bernadette level," she replies.

"And just how do you know Bernadette?" I ask.

"Who's Bernadette?" asks Tonks.

"Veela," I reply.

"Veela whore-house matron," says Hedwig. "A lesbian Veela whore-house matron. She's very sweet."

Tonks eyebrows rise.

"Why were you, err…" she begins asking.

"Ask Narcissa Malfoy," I mutter.

"Well… err… did you fuck her?"

No point trying to get around this one.

"Yes. Bernadette, that is. Not Malfoy." I visibly shudder at the thought. She's hot, don't get me wrong, but she's still a Malfoy.

"As a guy?" she asks.

"Well… given the fact that she's a lesbian? No."

"Ah. When was this?" asks Tonks.

"New Years."

Tonks nods. Is she jealous? Angry? Annoyed?

"If it makes you pity me, she fucks Narcissa Malfoy too."

Her hair turns a limp white, her face goes gaunt, and she shrinks by half a foot in outright horror.

"Yeah, I got that feeling, too, when I learned about it."

She shudders, before taking on a more normal appearance.

"Is there anybody else you… er…"

"In this timeline? No." I decided against ever ever _ever _ mentioning Narcissa trying to seduce me. Although I'm sure Andi knows she tried.

"In the previous one?"

"Bernadette's entire brothel," answers Hedwig.

I wince.

"An… an entire brothel… of Veela."

"Um, yeah," I say, wishing I had a cup of coffee so I could drink it to take a moment to think. "It was… um… I, er, was their paid man, as it were."

"Paid man?" asks Tonks.

"He was paid to make love to Veela, because he can withstand the allure," supplies Hedwig, knowing far too much of this than I'm ever comfortable with her knowing.

"Oh. Oh!" Her face takes on an even brighter shade of red as she realises the implications of this. "Wow."

"Yeah. My life. Wouldn't know normal even if it left a scar on my butt cheek."

"Well… I suppose I could leave a scar or two on your butt cheek."

I think about it, and then smile.

"Are we alright?"

"I think so. We'll see how it goes. There aren't any other surprises, are there?"

"Well… there's one that I'm thinking about. Although we'll have to see what James and Lily do first."

Tonks nods.

It's an awkward minute or two, before Hedwig finally huffs, and with an "Oh, I see how it is," wings her way back out into the front hall to watch the door. I give a small smile as she leaves, and Tonks walks over to me. She shifts her walk, taking on more feminine hips and a larger bosom just to toy with me. Her face doesn't change, keeping its cute heart-shape, but her hair becomes longer, shifting from shoulder-length neon pink to waist-length.

"So you like how I look, eh?"

"It's kind of hard to not like how you look," I reply.

She smiles at me, and wraps her hands around my shoulders as she becomes taller. Now I realise why she wears skirts so much. She doesn't have to keep track of how long her pants are.

It's the stupid things my brain thinks of, when I should be thinking about the tongue in my mouth. Ginny called it endearing. I'm not sure if she was serious.

Naturally, this is when Lily barges in.

"You lied to me about Jessica's body!" she growls out.

Tonks freezes up, but I give her a quick nip, and she's focused back on me.

"Quit sucking face, and answer me. Sirius tried this, once. It didn't work well for him."

We both sigh, and break apart.

"I'll have to ask him about that," I say.

"No, we'll have to ask him," says Tonks.

"Fine, fine," I reply. "So what did I lie to you about?"

"My daughter's corpse."

"Ah," I say, and think about that for a moment. "Yes. Yes I did."

I think she's surprised I came clean about it.

"What?" I ask. "You were thinking I was Voldemort's illegitimate daughter! I'm amazed _anybody_ trusted me."

"Really?" asks Tonks.

"Well, I've got Riddle's Parselmouth abilities, and I had black, curly hair. McGonagall recognized me, but didn't know from where until I mentioned being a Parselmouth. From there, she likely assumed."

"You told McGonagall?" she asks.

"Yeah... everything I transfigure speaks Parseltongue thanks to my wand."

"She didn't mention that," says Lily. "Back on topic. I'm trying to be angry with you about my daughter's corpse."

"I'm sorry I said it was cremated so it wouldn't be used, when I was walking around with it, alright? What am I supposed to say? I'm sorry, you can't have it. I'm kind of attached to it at the moment?"

On this, Lily is silent, but she still glares.

"Listen, Lily, I'm very sorry that I lied about my body. Is that better?"

"Yes," replies a now sadly smiling Lily.

"Oh, what now?" I ask.

"What?" asks Lily.

"You're smiling like I've done something right and wrong."

"It's the first time you called me Lily," she replies.

I blink at that. Is it? Well, the first time I called her that, yes.

"True, I suppose."

"So why did you pick Evans?" asks Lily.

"Because I'm an Evans," I reply.

"It's not a magical family name, though," says James, walking in, alive, but definitely not well. He appears to be dispelling some sort of jinx or curse that is causing his hair to strangle him.

"Sure it is. Has been since Lily's fourth year," I reply.

All three of them stare at me, evidently surprised.

"What? You created a vault in your fourth year," I say.

They continue to stare, having moved from surprised to confused.

"It was a family vault," I add. "That's why your bank statements are always addressed Evans-Potter."

She stares at me in slack-jawed stupid amazement.

"How do you know about that? I closed that vault years ago."

"Because you didn't get a chance to close it in my timeline. In this one, you folded it into James' vault. I actually re-opened it when I dumped Bellatrix money into it. Technically, I'm Head of the Matriarchal House of Evans, now, because you abdicated when you closed the vault."

All three of them stare at me like I'm crazy.

"Wait, how did you open a family vault?" asked James of Lily.

"I just opened a vault!" says Lily.

"You're a muggleborn. That's why it's a family vault," I reply. "Do you remember filling out Head of Family paperwork?"

"Head of Family paperwork?"

"Single form, asks if there's any other magicals in your family?"

"Er… I think I still have all the forms, maybe."

She wanders off, and I listen to her head upstairs.

"She accidentally started a magical bloodline," mutters James to himself. "Only Lily."

"Well, I was wondering where my stupidly deranged luck comes from," I reply.

"Stupidly deranged?" asks James.

"Don't ask," I say. I don't need to explain the Veela brothel again. Tonks takes my hand in support.

"Just think," she says. "You get to go through all of this again with my parents."

At this point I just sigh.

"Do I have too?"

"And Harry and Sirius, too," replies James. "I'm not keeping this from him."

I nod, understanding.

"Once the year's over," I say. "Let them figure this out over the summer, alright?"

James at least agrees to that.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asks. "Earlier?"

"When could I have?" I ask.

"After killing Albus? While killing Albus? At any point in that conversation?"

"Because, I assumed I was leaving the magical world. Why bother?"

"I know I'm not anymore, but when you were there, I was your father," says James. I feel the magic of a listening charm, and I assume it's Lily's. I almost instinctively break it, but hold off.

"No you weren't."

"What?"

"My parents died when I was fifteen months old. The first and only time I met my parents was at the tender age of seventeen, when I called them forth as Master of Death. They said they loved me, that they were proud of me. And that was it. You and Lily are Jessica's parents. Not mine. My Godfather spent twelve years in Azkaban, before he was murdered by Bellatrix LeStrange. He never taught Defence Against the Dark Arts." It also means that clutching my hand, offering me support, is an entirely different Nymphadora Tonks from the one that married Remus, from the one that was killed fighting Death Eaters at Hogwarts.

The distinctions are important. I may make mistakes, I may make assumptions, but I try to avoid them.

The listening charm falls, and I watch as Lily returns holding a muggle hanging file folder of all things. She drops it on the kitchen counter, and opens it up. I walk over, look past her shoulder, and pull out the appropriate form when she comes across it.

"This?" she asks. "That's the vault agreement."

"Right. Read this paragraph, right here." I point to a rather lengthy paragraph in Latin legalese. Satan himself would have a hard time figuring out the precise meaning of it, but it's been in use for the better part of three thousand years.

"That's the rules for family access. Only magical family members can access to the vault."

"No, it's the family line creation. By creating the vault, you establish your family line as a magical family, with you at its Head. So, the Evans family is a matriarchal line. Kind of short-lived, since you married and then never specified an Heir, but I could re-start it, so I restarted it."

Lily and James stare at me in surprise.

"What? I had to navigate this bullshit for forty goddamn years. I picked it up some of it from Andi, and after Andi was murdered I got a few lessons from Narcissa, as thanks for saving Draco's worthless carcass. The rest was reading page after page after page of fucking Latin legalese. You learn to become your own solicitor after you fuck over the goblins."

All three of them nod in understanding. They know what I'm talking about. I don't need to state that no solicitor wants to go against the goblins. They don't have the strength to take on the Wizarding World, but they hold enough power that the Wizarding World doesn't want to wipe them out. It's a careful balance, and solicitors hate disrupting it, because then every transaction with the bank has to be perfectly above board, or else.

A precarious position to be in, really. It's why I closed everything except the Potter-Black Family vault, and left it with 30 sickles on top of a note that said "For Griphook."

There's quiet in the room for a minute.

"So really, what did you do to the Dursleys?" asks James.

"Ask McGonagall to make use of her Pensieve," I reply, smiling. "It's worth it."

All three of them nod.

The rest of the night isn't so bad.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**I've mucked around with Jamie "coming out" to James and Lily quite a bit, reworking bits and pieces. James dislike of Jamie was something that got added in late in the story, and had to be worked into this scene. Personally, I think it still shows in places. Anyways. The last hurdle in Jamie and Tonks' relationship is out of the way, for the most part. We still have Jamie's Vengeance upon the Dursleys, the End of Year Surprise, and the epilogue.

Up next: _VENGEANCE_.


	10. Chapter the 9th: Vengeance

Disclaimer: I've also got some property on Mars, too. You believe me, right? Just like you believe I own Harry Potter, too, right?

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Ninth – Vengeance**

0x0x0x0

Nathaniel Lawton is a seventh year half-blood from Gryffindor, and he's standing next to the idiot Ravenclaws on a bitterly cold pre-dawn March morning.

I stare at him for a long moment. He points his wand at his feet, and sticks them in place.

"Really?"

"I want to be an Auror," he says. "Seems like a good way to have a leg up."

"Not gonna go easy on you," I reply.

"That's what I expect," he says.

I nod.

Insult to injury? He's got the silent casting down by the end of the first week, and the wandless casting down by the second. It's getting on towards the end of March when he gets down both, combined, and none of the Ravenclaws have figured out anything. Three more Auror potentials have "signed up" for my abuse, including a Ravenclaw that looks down on her comrades. She even spits on them, when she figures it out.

None of them, to my knowledge, have made the mistake of approaching any of the other teachers for aid. They've read through all the books in the library, trying to gain any use from the various texts there. I've still got the one useful text hidden in my desk drawer. Pince hates me, by this point.

The hilarious part is that I've given them everything they need to know, none of them have put it together, though.

Mid-April, I stand in the courtyard, glaring at them. I let Sally-Anne give the lecture.

"You're worthless, incompetent buffoons, the lot of you. I've told you, over and over and over how to do this, and none of you listen!" It's at about this point I realise I've created another Hermione. I shrug to myself, and let it continue. She doesn't so much lecture as rants for twenty minutes about the worthlessness of incantations and wand movements, and the importance of intent in shaping magic. She dips into profanity a few times, stutters a few more, and has the occasional issue with slurred speech. All in all, it's hilarious, and it takes every fibre of my being to not break down and laugh at it all.

My three volunteers would be laughing, but they're all silenced. At least I made sure they were in the back.

By the end of it, one of the Ravenclaws is actually dumb enough to ask the question, "Well what would you know, you're just an ignorant mudblooded Hufflepuff."

He screams when Sally-Anne's silent bludgeoner hits him in the balls.

"Miss Perks?"

"Yes Professor?"

"You were supposed to ask me to turn around first. What I don't see, I can't punish. So that'll be detention after classes."

She nods, looking at the ground.

I fail to mention I'm more than aware it's her birthday.

0x0x0x0

She's confused that she's following Daphne and Tracy into my classroom. Hermione is already there, chatting with me about, of course, Transfiguration theory. Most of the rest of the tea party arrives soon enough, which causes her to get even more confused. Su Li joins me and Hermione discussing Transfiguration theory, I may have accidentally mentioned a few discoveries that haven't been discovered yet, before I get things rolling.

"Sally-Anne, your detention is going to be very difficult," I manage to say with a straight face. "You're going to have to attend, of all the unspeakable horrors, a birthday party."

"Umm… who's?" she asks, looking about.

"Your own," I say, and drop the disillusionment charm on her birthday cake, and then light all twelve candles on it.

To say she's surprised is an understatement. It warms the blackened cockles of my heart, and I know I'm going to ask her tonight.

I'll have to introduce her to Tonks at some point. Tonks visits pretty regularly on the weekends, and some nights. I just need that over and done with.

Well that, and whatever end of year surprise is inevitably going to happen. And, really, I think that's the last hurdle. Well, I'm hoping it's the last hurdle. I should expect others. Probably the Ministry.

Sally-Anne gets a supply of gifts from the other girls, including a set of dress robes from Daphne. I recognise one of the styles in the set, it's for magical adoption ceremonies. I give Daphne a very long and pointed look, to which she can only smile at me. Slytherins are always too smart for their own good. Hopefully her sister will be smart enough to not marry Draco this time around. Hermione, of course, gives a book. The others give her various other things.

Hedwig has an amusing time chatting with everyone, although I don't like the way she chats with Daphne.

She's Up To Something.

Then again, she always is.

0x0x0x0

My present to Sally-Anne comes after everything has wound down. Her present leg is decent, but I want to get her something a little... better. I went a little overboard.

She looks at it like it's a work of art.

I suppose it is, I guess.

It's matte black, with gold inlays that I don't recall putting there. Sometimes magic is weird like that though. She takes off the old aluminium pole, the black marks of my runes still on it, and fits this one to her stump. There's nothing she needs to do to actually fit it on, but the surprise on her face when it seals itself on is pretty funny.

She takes a moment to touch the sides of the leg. There's a hint of surprise, a hint of mystery, a hint of a need to actually test it and make sure as she picks up her wand and pokes the side of her leg with it.

"What have I told you about poking things with your wand?" I ask, a smile on my face as I remember Moody grousing about wands in back pockets.

"Oh! Right!" she replies, instead grabbing a quill, and running it across her leg. She giggles, and smiles. "I can feel it!"

I nod, smiling.

She bends her leg, stretches her ankle, and even wiggles her toes.

And then she grabs me around the waist and squeezes for all she's worth.

"Thank you! Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you, Thank you!" she says.

This. This is what I've always wanted. And... and I want to talk to her foster parents first, but... instead...

"Sally-Anne, there's something else I wanted to ask you."

"What?" she asks, still wiggling her toes.

"I don't want your answer on this tonight. I want you to think about it, but... well... how would you like it if I adopted you?"

Her toes stop wiggling, and she's completely shell-shocked at this.

"You don't want my answer tonight?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "I want you to think about it."

"I don't think my answer's gonna change tomorrow," she says.

I nod, frowning.

"But I'll tell you tomorrow, alright?" she replies, concerned.

She's being nice about it, at least.

"Thank you," I say.

Of course. I shouldn't have expected that much.

0x0x0x0

"My answer's yes," says Sally-Anne, having arrived in the courtyard at quarter before five.

For a long moment I stare at her, abject surprise coursing through me.

"We really need to work on her about her expectations," says Hedwig.

I throw the traitor a glare, before looking back at Sally-Anne.

"Really?" I ask.

"Really," she says.

I smile, and give her a hug.

"Now I just need to tell everyone!"

I smile.

"There's a ritual and a ceremony, and I want to ask your foster parents first…"

"Ok," she says. "I know they'll let you. Ever since I got my letter, well, they've been worried they won't be able to raise me the way I should be raised, or something."

"Don't worry about that, they'll have done a better job of raising you than my aunt and uncle did. Which is something we need to talk about… well, a long something we need to talk about."

She frowns at this.

"Don't worry about it, alright? It's just… it's just something you should know before we go ahead and do this."

She nods.

Neither of our stinging hexes have as much umph behind them, but it's still an enjoyable morning.

0x0x0x0

I smile at Sally-Anne as she takes a seat at the table in my quarters. I'm in my kitchen cooking dinner. I demanded of the castle a kitchen, and she provided. Hogwarts is sweet like that.

"How's the leg working?" I ask.

"I… umm…" she starts.

"What?"

"I don't take it off," she says, embarrassed.

"Really?" I ask. I hadn't really expected that. I mean, I know I put a lot of effort into it, but I had to take off my hand when I slept. The thing drove me spare, sometimes.

"It's, well, it's just too nice to take off. It feels, well, like my leg. Like I've really got my leg back."

I blink in surprise, before the embarrassment kicks in. It can't really be that good, can it?

"No, really!" she adds, as though reading my mind, "It's that good!"

She knows me too well.

Thankfully, Tonks arrives to break up the conversation before I can embarrass myself further.

"Honey! I'm ho-ome!"

Or not.

I roll my eyes at her, and she smiles at me, and then looks at Sally-Anne.

"So you must be Sally-Anne," she says. Tonks' hair is her usual bright pink, and she's wearing somewhat plain robes. I suppose she's trying to make a good impression, while still being childish. I turn back to the stove as they get acquainted.

"And you're Tonks."

"It's good to meet you."

"You too. Jamie refuses to tell me your first name."

"And that's the way it should be," replies Tonks.

"Does that mean you're going to be Tonks Evans when you and Jamie get married?"

I laugh as I look at the sheer colourful surprise on Tonks' face. I'd given Sally-Anne the heads up on Tonks' gender state, explaining it as "she's basically half-and-half, and I'll give you more details when you're older, if you want them."

Naturally, the first question out of her mouth was "can you two get married?"

"Umm… maybe?" she says. "We've… we haven't really talked about that sort of thing."

At this Sally-Anne smiles.

Tonks is young enough that she does the smart thing, and doesn't ask about classes. Instead, she asks about who her friends are. Which brings her to the tea parties.

Oh, I know from Tonks' smile she's going to spend a long time laughing at me.

The dinner's nice, though. Being able to cook is a useful skill, and one that I'm not about to give up. All in all… it's good. It's a nice, talkative meal, filled with conversation as Tonks and Sally-Anne get to know each other. I haven't hidden them from each other. Tonks knows I want to adopt Sally-Anne, and Sally-Anne knows I'm dating Tonks. And now, we're all sitting at a dinner table, and they're conspiring against me.

I am reminded of one thing. Just because I have a female body, does not mean I understand the female mind.

0x0x0x0

"Well?" I ask.

Sally-Anne's left for the Hufflepuff dorm, and Tonks is staying a little late.

"She's a sweet little girl. Should I be worried?"

I glare at her.

"She's only, what, four years younger than you? If I wait a few years, she might steal you away from me."

I roll my eyes. She's been making fun of my age even more, now.

"I should tell her at some point."

"You should, yeah." She wraps her arms around me, drawing me back into her. She makes herself taller, and rests her chin on top of my head.

I could spend a long time right here.

Is it strange that I like being comforted? That I like being held, as much as I like holding? Even after how I was raised, even after all the pain and misery, I want to be held?

"Stay," I say.

"Hmm?"

"Stay the night. Please."

I can feel her pause, before she agrees.

It's been a very long time since I've slept with someone I love.

And I do love her.

I can admit that to myself, at least.

0x0x0x0

I make fun of Tonks through all of breakfast for what I felt poking me when I woke up.

She kisses me to make me shut up, and I'm almost late for my first class.

I completely forget about a group of Ravenclaws standing in a courtyard outside the school. That's their problem, not mine.

0x0x0x0

It's early May. I'm chatting with McGonagall, waiting for the Potters to arrive, when I ask the question.

"Odd question… but what are the rules about adopting students?"

Minerva puts down her tea, and gives me a long look before smiling.

"I was wondering when this would happen," she says.

I sigh.

"Am I really that transparent?" I ask.

"When you're happy, you are," she says. "As with teaching any family member, impartiality is required. Given you're grades for her, I actually feel you're being a little harsh."

I have to think about that for a moment.

"I guess I am. I know I expect exacting work from her…"

"Miss Evans, she's doing all of her work silently."

"Free transfiguration, actually," I say, correcting her.

Minerva stares at me for a very long moment, before she speaks again.

"Miss Evans, I'm afraid I didn't hear you correctly. Did you just say she was doing free transfiguration?"

I nod.

"And you are grading her results as though she were any other first year?"

I nod.

Minerva's fingers massage the bridge of her nose for a minute before she speaks.

"Miss Evans… Jamie, free transfiguration is a requirement for a mastery. We don't even teach the subject at N.E.W.T. level. That she is performing it at the age of eleven-"

"Twelve. Her birthday was last week." McGonagall gives me a look.

"At the age of twelve, says absolutely amazing things about both your skill as a teacher, and her skill as a student. Are you teaching her free charms, as well?"

"No, I just taught her how to cast charms silently. I'm… not actually teaching her anything, anymore."

On this, McGonagall is silent. Utterly silent. I get the feeling I've broken a few rules.

"How long did it take you to teach her?"

"She was caught up by early November," I reply, noting the fire turn green out the corner of my eye.

"And just how did you manage to teach her mastery level magic?" asks Minerva.

"I didn't mention it was mastery level," I reply.

"What's mastery level?" asks Lily, stepping through.

"Free Transfiguration," says Minerva. "Miss Evans has been teaching one of her students Free Transfiguration."

"That must be one hell of a N.E.W.T. project," says James.

"One of her first years," grounds out Minerva. I can tell I'm giving her a headache.

"Sorry?" I say, unsure of just what to do about this.

"A first year," I hear Sirius say. "You're teaching Perks free Transfiguration? I thought you were just teaching silent casting?"

"And you aren't teaching me this?" asks Tonks. So it's all four of them.

"I can over the summer, if you want. Harry, too," I say, looking at James and Lily.

James and Lily are surprised.

"If you don't want me to-" I begin.

"No, I think it'd be good," says Lily. Even I can see the sharp glare she sends at James. He frowns, but agrees. "Now, Minerva..."

"I'm aware of Miss Evans' secretive nature, Lily. And that, I'm sure, it relates to Miss Evans' own relation to you and James."

"Something like that," I say.

Oh, Minerva knows I'm lying. She knows something's up, and wants to ask, but decides against it. Instead, she says her final pleasantries, and heads off to patrol the castle.

"So…" begins James. "The memories?"

I nod, and my wand touches my temple. The silvery strands hang from my wand-tip, and I drop them into the Pensieve.

"Filled in Mr. Black?" I ask.

"Spent most of the last month finishing off the Obliviation," says Sirius. "Lily can really hound me when she needs to. Never saw Dumbledore as the type to pull that sort of shit, but... well..."

"Whatever he needs to do for the Greater Good, he'll do," I say. "You can at least respect the man for doing whatever needs to be done, but, well..."

"Yeah," says Sirius. "So, you pranked the Dursleys already?"

"Oh, yes. That's what we're going to watch. Shall we?"

We enter the Pensieve, and find ourselves in an unknown living room. My memory self is dialling the phone.

"James, just so you know, I didn't break into a muggle house to make a phone call."

He gives me a look rather similar to Minerva's. It's probably where he learned it from.

My memory self begins speaking.

"I'd like to report a possible missing person," speaks my charmed voice. "And I'd like to report it anonymously."

"Go ahead."

"The missing person is Jessica Potter. She went missing sometime over the summer, I think in early July, maybe late June. She lives with her aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

"And what makes you think she's gone missing?"

"They claim they sent her to a boarding school. St. Trinian's School for Girls, like in the books and movies."

"They specifically said St. Trinian's?"

"Yes... except nobody remembers them driving her there, or picking her up. She just disappeared one day."

"And you think she went missing in June or July?"

"Well, yes. We always saw her out working in the garden in the afternoons, sometimes in the mornings as well. And then one day she was gone, and Vernon said she was packed off to St. Trinian's if he was asked. Said she was a worthless little bitch, and deserved it."

The scene shifts to my kitchen. I'm at the stove, mixing a potion.

LOCAL COUPLE ARRESTED IN ALLEGED MURDER OF NIECE.

The date is December 24th.

"What do you think?" I ask, pointing to it.

"Quite the Christmas present," says Tonks.

"Quite," says James. "Alleged murder?"

"Muggle papers have to say 'alleged.' Innocent until proven guilty. Really, all that means is they have to tack on the word alleged to all the charges."

James nods, as Lily looks at my potion brewing. Home recipe of burn salve, for when I go a little far with the wandless magic. I don't do it often, but I always have some on hand.

The scene shifts. It's a muggle interrogation room, now. Petunia is sitting in a chair with a black eye. My memory self is speaking with several police officers before the one way glass. My eyes are a deep brown, my hair is a limp, straight, dull brown, I've got a few wrinkles on my face, and a mole above my right eye. I'm also wearing platform shoes to add an inch or two.

"Aw," says Tonks. "You make a cute brunette."

"Har, har, har," I reply, as the conversation begins.

"We've been looking, but we haven't found anything," my memory self states. "Court records are coming up empty."

"One of the neighbours say the girl was left on her doorstep," says the investigator, Matthews.

My memory raises an incredulous eyebrow at this.

"Just saying what they said happened."

"So we don't even know where this kid came from, and she's been with them for ten years, and nobody's said anything about it? Hell, something should have come up when she went to school."

"Nope," says one of his minions, Peterson. "Dursley's old friends with the superintendent. Both of them went to Smeltings together."

My memory self nods.

"Peterson, go talk with him," says Matthews. "Lean on him. See if he gave Dursley any special treatment. We'll make him an accomplice to the sexual abuse if he doesn't talk."

"And if he does?" I ask.

"Well, I know some friends who can ask questions to the right people if he doesn't resign."

"Am I allowed to have a go at her, yet?" my memory asks. "I've got a few questions to ask, and maybe she'll open up for a friendly face."

Matthews relents, knowing I've got to get my piece in.

We follow my past self into the interrogation room.

"And right here," I say, pointing to my past self, "is where I cast a mild but permanent compulsion charm on Petunia. We'll get to that."

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley, my name is Louise Fetterton. I'm a social worker trying to determine how Jessica came to be in your care."

Petunia nods.

"Now, you stated to the police that the birth records were lost. Do you know where Jessica was born?"

"No. I haven't spoken with Lily since I was seventeen."

My memory nods, and makes a note on the pad of paper in front of me, just like Louise Fetterton actually does. I don't look exactly like her, I'm actually a little shorter, but it's the little things that are important. The pad is charmed to make it look like her chicken-scratch, when I sneak the notes back to her. I'll also be giving her these memories, as well, but I still make them good.

"Mrs. Dursley, we're asking because we can't get into contact with Mrs... Potter? You said Potter, right?"

Petunia nods.

"We've been looking, but we can't even find anything that says Lily ever married. We even asked around your old neighbourhood to see if anybody's kept in contact with her-"

"They wouldn't have," growled out Petunia.

"When a man named Severus Snape came forward."

Her eyes widen, and then soften. She smiles.

"Surely he knew where Lily was?"

"Not really," my memory states. "They had a falling out during their fifth year at..." I glance at the pad, trying to find the name of the school.

"Hogwarts," says Petunia. "The school's name was Hogwarts."

"Could have sworn it was something else. Apparently he's the chemistry teacher there, now."

Petunia looks like she wants to say something, but hold's her tongue.

"Chemistry teacher?" asks Sirius.

"Yep. Got to claim he's something," I say. "Save your questions for the end."

"Says quite a bit about him, if he managed to become a teacher for a school for the gifted."

Petunia looks angrier and angrier.

"I asked him if he could get in contact with Lily, see if there's some sort of alumni organization, but he said there wasn't. The police are still going through records, but Inland Revenue hasn't even seen anything from Lily since she was seventeen."

"That's because she's a freak," whispers Petunia.

"A what?"

"A freak."

My memory self glances at the officers, while furiously scribbling notes.

"What sort of freak?" she asks.

This question hits the neurosis motherload. For the next forty minutes, there is an outpouring of rage, anger, and paranoia that makes a JFK assassination convention look like a school bake sale. The pen scribbles the entire time, as Petunia relates every fear and hatred of the Wizarding World she can to someone who will nod and smile at all of it. This isn't anything new to me, but James, Lily, Sirius, and Tonks are all horrified by it. I'm merely looking at the clock on the wall, waiting for it to end.

When she finally peters out, my memory excuses herself, and returns to behind the mirrored glass.

"Psychotic break?" asks Matthews.

"Not a councillor for that, but it has all the signs of it. I'd say get a court order, and have her locked up. Maybe a councillor can get where she hid the bodies."

"Bodies?" asks Peterson.

"She says the wizards took both her sister and her niece."

His eyes widen.

"Oh, Jesus," he mutters.

"Actually... do we even know if Jessica's related to Lily?"

"Blood and semen samples will come back early March if we're lucky, but more like mid-Apiril," says Matthews. "Definitely were blood and semen, though. Not really a question on whose, but it'd be good to actually match it to make sure."

"Blood and semen?" asks Sirius, horrified.

I nod, staring as one of the officers leaves, and leads Petunia out.

"You're claiming I'm dead?" asks Lily.

"Yep," I reply. "Not that hard to claim, either. You dropped off the map in the late seventies. Hogwarts is, at least, established as an accredited trade school in muggle terms, although no one is entirely sure as to what. If you want to rejoin the muggle world, well, Gringotts can arrange it."

Lily nods.

"Sirius, you looked indescribably pissed."

"Jessica lived through that?" he asks.

"No," I reply. "She survived it. There's a difference."

Once more, James winces at the mention of the prophecy.

"And even then," I continue, "not really. Dumbledore needed a tool. Something to do what was necessary, to survive the coming horror, and willing to die to win it. Something that considered its life disposable before the needs of the others."

Sirius looks like he wants to vomit. Probably due to my choice of pronouns.

"I can respect his dedication, but I will fault him every second of every day for being a monster."

Sirius nods, still looking a little green.

"And the semen stains?"

"Hmm? Oh, just wait for Vernon's interview," I say.

It takes three officers to escort Vernon to the table, and they quite literally chain him down. My memory self fakes her surprise well, before taking a breath.

"Good luck," says Matthews. "Hopefully he's not too crazy."

"Right," my memory self states, faking a sort of nervousness. We all follow her into the room. She looks calm now, as she steps into the room. I did need that half-second at the door before entering, simply so I wouldn't murder the man on sight, and also to ready the compulsion enchantment.

"Why am I under arrest?" he growls.

"Hello, Mister Dursley. My name is Louise Fetterton. I'm a social worker, investigating just how Jessica came to your home."

"Told you before, those worthless freaks left her on the doorstep. Letter said we didn't have a choice."

My memory nods. She's got a photocopy of the letter in her folder of documents.

"The letter from... Albus Dumbledore, yes?"

"Right."

"And you received no other documents about her?"

"Not a single one," replies Vernon. "Freaks didn't give us anything."

My memory nods, and makes a note of it.

"And just how did you treat Jessica?" my memory ask.

"Like a freak should be treated," he replies.

"And how is that?"

His statements are revolting to anyone who doesn't consider rape a tool, or are so desensitised to its use.

I have to wonder what Tonks actually does see in me.

An innocent question on my memory's part draws me back to the conversation at hand.

"So you raped Jessica?"

"It's not rape if it isn't human," replies Vernon, uncaring.

At this point, I move the memory forward, and we're all back behind the glass. The descriptions that follow are not fit for any conversation.

"He's completely nutters," says Matthews. The faint smell of his subordinate's vomit pervades the room.

"Psychopath, sociopath, it doesn't matter. There's no remorse in there. He didn't even think of her as human," my memory agrees.

"They won't get a conviction," says Matthews. "He'll be dumped in a sanatorium for the rest of his life."

"He seems the violent type," my memory says. "And the type to try and escape."

"He does, doesn't he?" Matthews replies, his face hardening.

My memory writes down the name and address of a specific sanatorium.

"My personal recommendation for the persecutor and the judge."

He looks at the name, and an eyebrow rises.

"It's what he deserves," my memory adds.

He nods, then looks back into the room. He reaches back to the shelf, and pulls down one of the old wooden clubs. He slaps it into his hand a few times, recalling how it feels and how to swing it.

"Miss Fetterton, in your professional opinion, how did Vernon and Petunia Dursley get a hold of Jessica Potter, and what happened to her?"

"In my professional opinion? It's a shared delusion. They kidnapped the girl, and killed her mother in the process. And when Jessica was supposed to go off to the same school in their minds, they killed her as well. Honestly, I think we'll be lucky if we ever learn where they hid the bodies."

The investigator nods.

"Peterson, Brown, remove Mister Dursley from the table, and open the door."

We all move out into the hall as the two bobbies remove Vernon's chains, and then open the door. Matthews stands, club in hand, beside it. The two other bobbies wait inside the room, as Vernon stands, and shuffles out, his hands and legs still cuffed together.

Matthews smashes the club straight into Vernon's face with a rather satisfying crack.

"Escaping, are we?" asks Matthews.

Vernon makes a noise that, if you're a kind person, may have sounded like a "no."

"Resisting as well, are we?" asks Matthews, and brings the club down again. This time, it's a soft tissue blow. Vernon has enough padding that it won't break anything. His trial isn't going to happen until the summer. There'll be plenty of time for anything and everything to heal.

Then one of the bobbies, Peterson I think, starts kicking him in the side, and the beating really starts. It goes for a few minutes, before Matthews ends it.

"That's enough for today, I think. Brown, drag his carcass back downstairs and add attempted escape and resisting capture to his sheet."

"Yes, sir."

With that, the memory ends, and we're back in Minerva's office.

"When's the court date?" asks James.

"July 8th. I'll get you all the details. For some strange reason neither, Vernon or Petunia have thought to ask for any type of legal representation. They're being given public defence."

"And the Sanatorium?" asks Sirius.

"It's a high security facility, and houses mostly psychopaths and serial killers. It's run by the Whateley family."

Tonks and James both shudder at the name. It's not on par with Voldemort, but it's definitely up there.

"Same Whateleys?" asks Sirius.

"The very same," I reply. Sirius shudders in response.

"Who are the Whateleys?" asks Lily.

"They're the sort of purebloods that not even Voldemort would take in his ranks," replies James.

"Voldemort has standards?" she asks.

"They're pure, the same way Dolores Umbridge is pure," I say.

"Umbridge?" asks James.

"She's a Marsh," I say. Sirius and Tonks visibly shudder, while James is confused.

"From Innsmouth," I add.

Disgusted recognition dawns on his face.

"I get the feeling I don't want to know, and yet morbid curiosity tells me to ask anyways," says Lily.

"They're…" begins James.

"Not human," says Tonks, most of her visible body pale. "Very much so not human. They breed with… things. To get power into their bloodlines."

"Things?" asks Lily.

"Things from deep and dark places," I supply, "that worship even more deep and dark things. It's best left at that," There is a reason I'm good with Fiendfyre. It's the only thing that really works on the things the Marshes worship.

"Good to know they'll be in capable hands," says Sirius.

"Exactly. We still have to hammer through the appropriate sentence, but it's dependent on the judge."

"Did you really talk to Snape?"

"Yes," I say. "I even know why Dumbledore trusted him."

"Why?" growls James.

"An Unbreakable Vow of Loyalty."

Silence fills the room.

"Seriously?" asks Sirius. "That's why he trusted Snape?"

"When Albus said Snape had turned traitor on Voldemort, he meant it. No going back with one of those."

Sirius nods.

"And if you breathe a word of that to anyone, Sirius, **my promise still stands**. Got it?"

"Promise?" asks James, surprised by the sudden voice change.

"Got it," says a rapidly nodding Sirius.

"Jamie, are you threatening Sirius?" asks Lily.

"No. I'm informing him that he'd best act his age. Or else."

"Can you ever be serious?" asks Tonks. I immediately conjure a pillow and throw it at her, while silencing Sirius before he can speak.

"You did that on purpose," I rather pointedly say, while pointing to Sirius.

He's frowning, because I cut him off before he could say one of his blasted puns. I've listened to them all over the last year, as if I hadn't heard enough at Grimmauld.

"Not all of us are wholly disgusted by such low forms of humour," says Tonks, smirking.

I roll my eyes, and Sirius undoes my silencing charm.

"Everyone should appreciate a good pun," grumbles Sirius.

"I had to listen to an entire _Christmas_ worth of them at _Grimmauld_. I know the fifty alone that you made about your mother."

He shudders.

"Anyways, what say we give McGonagall back her office? The portraits are annoyed enough with my privacy ward."

Several previous headmasters look upon us with annoyance for daring to keep a conversation private.

"How'd you manage that?" asks Lily.

"_Muffilato_. Quirk of the spell makes it stronger when cast silent."

Lily isn't surprised by my mention of the spell, but the others are.

I glance at all of them.

"You didn't learn it from me," I tell them. "You learned it from a ratty sixth-year's potions book that someone left somewhere. It has _corrections_."

"There's a story, here," says Tonks, eyeing me carefully.

"Dumbledore's idea. His attempt to get me closer to Slughorn." I fail to mention Snape. Lily nods approvingly. The less Snape the better. I included him in my revenge against the Dursleys because he was a friend of Lily. He knew about Jessica's death, and he had every right to be a part of it. Some sort of closure, some sort of vengeance.

I know the feeling.

We evacuate McGonagall's office, and arrive in my quarters. I absently conjure an extra couch in my sitting room, while I walk up to the door that wasn't there when I left my quarters. With my wand still out, I poke open the door with a conjured stick.

"That _bitch!_" I shout.

"What is it?" asks Tonks.

"That blasted, buggering, boulder-based, _bitch!_"

"What? Who?"

"Hogwarts!"

"What's going on?" asks Lily.

"Fucking Hogwarts added on an extra room! I haven't even fucking started the preparations for the ceremony, let alone the four stone of paperwork, and the damn castle just _gave me_ another room. What's next, my bed turning into a queen-size?"

"I wouldn't mind," comments Tonks.

"There's one at the house," I say, "but that's beside the point. There's even a fucking four-poster in here! What the hell!"

I answer questions about my life from Sirius in between muttering, grumbling, and swearing about conniving, over-indulgent semi-sentient rock-heaps. My wand is already in hand as I begin to decorate the room with a few basic things. I start by summoning a trio of acorns, with every intent on paying back Hogwarts for doing this. I place each one in a crack in the stone floor, and everyone eyes me strangely as I begin chanting in Hebrew. They're easy enough to ignore, as the acorns take root in the very stones of the castle, growing from the magic surrounded them. It takes a fair amount of concentration to shape the branches properly, but once it's done, there's a rather unique set of floor-to-ceiling shelves on one side of the room.

"Wow," says Tonks. "That's... wow."

"Our children will have a tree house. I mean that very literally."

"I think Harry would want one," says James, staring at the bookshelves.

"Hell, _I_want one," says Sirius.

"When you're older," I say, taking a seat on the bed. A tall glass of iced tea makes its way from the kitchen to Sally-Anne's new room, and I take a long gulp of it.

"Tiring?" asks Tonks, taking a seat next to me.

"A little. Takes a fair bit of concentration, and I've never done that with this wand."

"The Elder Wand?"

"Nah. Holly and phoenix feather was always amazing at this sort of thing."

Tonks nods, off to my side.

"Maybe we should get some rest, eh?"

"Yeah," I say. Standing's a little difficult. It has been a long day, hasn't it? Not physically draining. Emotionally. Mentally. I walk out into the living room with Tonks at my arm. I look at each of them in turn. Sirius looks at me appraisingly, especially with Tonks at my arm. James doesn't actively hate me, an improvement. Lily gives me a small, sad smile.

Hedwig looks at me with love, and I can tell she'll deal with the theoretical adults for a little while, while Tonks drags me off to my bed.

The clock says it's dinnertime, but clocks are to be ignored.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**The Marshes are from Lovecraft. In the Lovecraft canon, they're traders who did business in Indonesia, and brought back some "women" from there. Members of the Marsh family have a tendency to grow gills and scales, slip into the ocean, and worship a god that's dead but dreaming.  
The Whateleys are another family name from Lovecraft. They have... something... in their lineage. It's best not to ask. You live longer that way. Or, at least, you stay sane longer that way.

As always, I appreciate your reviews. If you have private messaging enabled, I will respond.  
Next time... _In Sierra Nevada, Always Foxtrot Uniformly._


	11. Chapter the 10th: SNAFU

Disclaimer: Sadly, I didn't even come up with the joke in the title, let alone Harry Potter.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Tenth – In Sierra Nevada, Always Foxtrot Uniformly**

0x0x0x0

Dreams are weird when Hedwig's talking with people. Normally, she does it when I'm awake, but it happens every once in a while.

Furries in a Jacuzzi, surrounded by jungle. Specifically, a deer with an impressive rack, a black dog, a red fox, and a white owl are all relaxing in the hot tub. I'm the wolf, asleep on a nearby rock, and something immeasurable, unknowable, but loving all the same, is wrapped around me.

"Is she alright?" asks the fox.

"She's fine. Tired, but fine," says the owl. "She gets like this, whenever she thinks about the past. A lot of her memories are locked away with occlumency."

"She seemed fine to me," says the deer. It's grumpy, angry about something.

"She's good at making everything seem fine."

"And you know better?" asks the deer.

"Of course. I don't know her memories, but I know her emotions. She doesn't hide them from me."

The deer isn't happy about this, and looks to the dog.

"Do you believe this?"

"I've worked with her," says the dog. "She's closed off as can be. I don't think I've ever seen her smile or laugh. Then again, she and the bat get along."

"Mostly because they both hate you," replies the fox.

"She doesn't still hate me, does she?" asks the dog.

"Hate's a strong word for her," says the owl after a moment. "She does think you're a giant dick, though."

"I guess I deserve that," says the dog.

"You do. How is she adopting her daughter?" asks the fox.

"No changing the subject!" says the deer.

"To bad."

"Blood adoption," replies the owl.

The deer winces at that, while the dog is confused.

"Really?" asks the dog.

"Best way to do it, her being of impure blood and all that rot."

"What aren't you telling me?" asks the dog, looking pointedly at the deer. The deer looks pointedly at the owl, and the owl just looks smug.

"You have been hanging around the bat too much," says the fox.

"I know. That also means I can't tell you until the year's out. The wolf doesn't want to explain more than twice."

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," says the dog.

"She only drinks once a year," says the owl. "On the anniversary of her son's death. When it gets too much, and she needs to drown it out."

The fox looks aghast, the deer ashamed, and the dog horrified.

"She had a kid? And he's dead?" asks the dog.

The owl nods.

The dog is decidedly uncomfortable now.

"She's really dead set on building herself a family, isn't she?" asks the dog.

"She is."

"She loves the shifter, doesn't she?"

"She does," says the owl.

"She's got my blessing, period, end of story." The dog looks to James. "You've got a few things to talk with her, don't you?"

The deer nods.

"Alright, I'll turn in then. I expect you lot to come clean about it, though."

"Once the brats are loose," says the owl. The dog shakes his head, and then leaves.

"Blood adoption? Really?" asks the deer.

The owl grins. I'm not sure how, given the fact she has a beak.

0x0x0x0

"Well?" I ask Hedwig. It's about three in the morning. I'm awake, now and I'm halfway convinced Hedwig doesn't sleep.

"James and Sirius were impressed by your little display in Sally-Anne's bedroom."

I groan.

"James still hates you, though. He respects you, but he hates you."

"He thinks it's because I couldn't save Jessica, isn't it?"

"Pretty much. Too much ego to blame himself, so he has to blame someone else. You're alive, and you stole his daughter."

"What? He thought his daughter would be magically healed because Mummy and Daddy found her?"

"I guess? It's James. His thought processes make even less sense than yours. He also thinks the blood adoption is an insult to him, for kicking you out by blood."

I roll my eyes.

"Lily likes you. She hates herself, but likes you," continues Hedwig.

"Oh. What now?" I ask.

"I think she's just wondering what went wrong."

"With what?" I ask.

"With Petunia. Lily looked up to Petunia, and now... well. That much hate? That much disgust? How'd it come about? What imagined slights can Lily dream up that she's done wrong? Did she not write enough? Write too much? What?"

I shouldn't have left that whisky for James. There are a few bottles of Burgundy, but I'm avoiding those.

"She's a loving person," says Hedwig, interrupting my personal brooding. "She cares about you. She cared about you even before she found out you were her daughter."

I sigh before continuing.

"And Sirius?"

"Doesn't know, yet," mumbles Tonks, stumbling out of the bedroom, and then off into the bathroom.

We both stare at the bathroom door for a second.

Tonks was wearing nothing but boxers and a shirt, and obviously not a bra. And is also quite obviously wearing _my_ boxers. She was mostly dressed when she went to bed. Then again, so was I. I glance down at myself, and realise I'm wearing my shirt and boxers. I do hope she didn't vanish that sports bra, comfortable ones aren't cheap. She takes a few minutes, and is still a little groggy when she steps out.

"So why are you wearing my boxers?" I ask.

"They're more comfy," she says, adjusting herself.

Hedwig giggles, while I roll my eyes.

"Well, either buy your own, or move in."

"Okay," says Tonks. "When should I get my stuff?"

Hedwig openly laughs at me.

0x0x0x0

Minerva is not pleased with my pre-marital living-together-ness. She's also very uncomfortable talking with me about it.

"At least tell me you are not performing... such deeds while in the castle."

"We aren't. To be honest, well... I'm not entirely comfortable being that intimate with someone I trust."

Minerva's discomfort spikes to entirely new levels. I do this to her. She doesn't like it, but she's willing to listen. I have that effect on people.

"And to be honest, she surprised me with agreeing."

"You have a very honest personality, Jamie." Well, there's a first. "When you lie or withhold the truth, it's quite obvious, but it has entirely been with good reason."

I nod, and thank her.

"Such an arrangement is not without precedent, although I would prefer a ring on someone's finger sometime soon. If only for the sentimentalities of an old woman."

I smile.

"I'm... I'm working on it," I say.

0x0x0x0

"FUCK." The entire head table looks at me, as do most of the students in the hall. I ignore them, and instead drag Sirius over from his seat using a wandless _Accio_.

"Get James and Lily, tell them to get to Hogwarts, and to bring the cloak," I tell him under a _Muffilato_.

"Miss Evans?" asks McGonagall, stepping inside the silencing charm.

I show her the paper.

"You think he would come here?"

"Albus won his wand, Minerva, James has a rather nice cloak as a family heirloom, and I have a certain stone hidden in a Chamber of Secrets."

"Won his... Cloak? Stone? You don't mean..."

"Yes. Hedwig, where is he?"

"Still in Eastern Europe," says Hedwig, having landed and joined the conversation. "He's placed an owl redirection spell on himself, I can't narrow it down any further."

"Sirius?"

"I'll get James and Lily out of Godric's Hollow." With that, he takes off at a run. I see Harry and Sally-Anne looking worried.

"He's gathering weapons to assault Hogwarts. Minerva, please evacuate Hogsmeade into the castle, and then lock down the wards. I'll be building defences."

"You truly believe he will come here?"

"I do. We need to get ready."

"Of course. Do we want Ministry support?"

"No. If they're outside the castle, they'll be in my way. If you excuse me, I need to get a few things."

Minerva nods. It's sad that she's so willingly accedes to someone else's direction, but I suppose that's what comes from dealing with Albus for so long. I jump the head table, and am already out the Great Hall doors by the time Minerva has everyone's attention.

Hedwig's with me, saying he's still moving around Eastern Europe. Mostly Germany, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was in Poland and Austria as well.

I barely stop for the door to the second floor bathroom, and I have to stop to wait for the sink to open. I don't slide down the tunnel, this time. I can fly, and damn it, I _will_ fly. Headfirst, it takes barely a minute to reach the Chamber itself. I open the doors, and then open Slytherin's mouth. The basilisk corpse is already gone, only the bones remain. The Basilisk's blood is so toxic it actually eats apart the flesh once the magic sustaining the beast is gone. Inside Slytherin's mouth is a small box containing the Stone. I collect it, and I don't bother with touching down to leave the bathroom. In fact, I don't bother entering the rest of the castle to leave the bathroom, and fly out through the window.

It's a bright, clear sunny day as I stop at Hagrid's hut. He's outside, pulling his crossbow taught as he sees me.

"Professor Evans!" he shouts, surprised.

"Hagrid. I need you to go into the forest, and warn the various inhabitants that Grindelwald's coming. Keep them away from the castle."

"You think he's coming here?" asks Hagrid.

I nod.

He looks out across the lake, towards the white obelisk that is Albus' tomb.

"Suppose he would, wouldn't he," says Hagrid. "You going to take a whack at 'im?"

"That I am," I reply.

"Alright. Give 'im a good 'un from me," says Hagrid.

He takes his crossbow, and charges into the forest, Fang right behind him. He'll keep the centaurs and the Aragog's lot out of the way. I fly out across the lake. It takes me five minutes to unravel the protections on his tomb, and retrieve the Elder Wand. I can feel its connection to me, my magic resonating with it. I shudder, as it feels like I've just regained a missing limb. There's a sense of disgust, a sense of guilt having reclaimed the Deathstick.

Still, I return to the shoreline to find James and Sirius glaring at Severus, while Lily and Tonks stand in between. Hedwig is with them. I land, Elder Wand in hand, and begin chanting in a form of Assyrian that would border on gibberish. The language was all but lost, and only rediscovered when some idiot found the Tower of Babel in the eighteen hundreds. He was promptly murdered by one of the creatures I'm summoning into the lake, and the Tower itself sealed and hidden by the ICW. At least until I took a poke through it. Being both a Warlock and Master of Death has its perks.

Maybe I was still Master of the Wand before Albus died. It raises the question of who the cloak belongs to. I'll worry about it later, though.

"Where's Andi?" Hedwig asks for me.

"Up in the castle," says Tonks.

"Sorry, I'm going to be doing the talking," says Hedwig. "She has a fair bit of chanting to get through. Grindelwald's still in Eastern Europe. Anybody know when he escaped?"

"A little before dawn," says James.

"I presume you killed Albus?" asks Severus. Everyone looks at him, surprised.

"She did," replies Hedwig.

"Voldemort as well?"

"She did."

Severus gives me a long look, before performing the most grotesque and terrifying action I have ever seen Severus Snape perform. It was a thing of horror, an event to make baby Jesus, and all small children everywhere cry. Nearby fish died, and floated belly-up. I felt the fabric of space and time twist and churn, as an abomination against nature and all that is Right and Good with the world occurred.

Severus Snape _grinned_.

His face contorted, wrinkled creases forming in it from obvious disuse. His hook nose seemed to shift upwards, becoming even more ponderous and jutting. His lips cracked and bled as dry skin was stretched in a manner that had never before been used. Blackened and crooked teeth were placed on display, and the good Doctors Granger would have cringed.

For the first time since I made the journey, I doubted whether or not it actually was a good idea.

I shook it off, and didn't let it disturb my chanting. The others were not so lucky. Sirius vomited, while James merely looked ill. Lily smirked, and Tonks turned white as a ghost, her hair limp and white. Hedwig laughed at them for me, having not looked at Severus.

Severus' repulsive grin shortens to a smirk at the sight of Sirius retching out his guts.

"You will deal with Dumbledore again?" he asks, somehow combining his smirk and sneer into a sort of unholy paradox of a facial expression.

"She will. It's what she's doing right now."

The spell snaps together, finally, and a thick fog rolls over the lake.

"One down, three to go," I say out loud.

Snape stares out over the water, eyebrow raised.

"I will be working with Minerva on the castle's inner defences. Do try not to die, Miss Evans. Intelligent conversation is so hard to find these days."

With that, Severus Snape turns, and heads back to the castle.

I shake my head. Then look at the open expanse of ground in front of me. I focus my magic, drifting into the resonance of the Elder Wand, and point it at the empty patch of grass in front of me.

I've rarely had a need for incantations or fancy wandwaving. This is pure finesse, pure magic, pure visualisation and intent.

The bones form, the feet first, four massive talons, drifting into a wide step. The legs, kneecaps, spaced wide with strength. Hips to hold them together, and a spine with a long, thick tale. The ribs are massive, and the arms are a little short, but powerful. The head is perched over it all, with spaces for large eyes. A careful eye will find runes on all of the bones. Unbreakable, unbending, unyielding. This will not be fragile.

The others are silent, staring with awe at the thirty-five foot skeleton.

"Is that... is that adamantine?" asks Sirius.

I nod, but don't speak.

I retrieve the stone. It's still mine, and I shan't lose it. I shall, forever, know where it is kept. I lift from the ground, and place it behind the sternum. There's a spot for it, because this is where I will hide it. This is how I will protect it.

Inside the belly I conjure a single aquamarine, half a foot across. Engraved on its surface are runes for buoyancy. Above that are now a pair of bags made of tungsten mesh. At the back of its throat forms a fiery red ruby surrounded by three sapphires. In the eye sockets I conjure two black opals.

I pick copper for the muscles. I let the magic guide me, here, as thick, heavy coils of muscle form, runes for strength and power and control form on all of them. Copper is a far more fluid element than others, and it's a good choice.

The skin comes next. Some people would call it a work of art. The scales are without runes, and come out in a deep charcoal black. The spines running down the back have rounded tips, but have runes faintly engraved in them for gathering magical and physical power, and focusing through the array of gems at the back of the throat.

James, Sirius, and Tonks are standing in awe, while Lily is struck dumb.

"You're kidding me, right?" asks Lily.

I lift off the ground, and hover over the forehead. There's an incantation in Aramaic, and I breathe into its open mouth. It takes its own massive breath, chest expanding, before it bellows.

I smirk. I even got the sound right.

That should have rattled a few windows in the castle.

It looks down at me, and growls. I can make it out, barely.

"_What do you want?_"

"_Defend the Castle. Defend your heart. Become their guardians, and destroy all who attempt either. Your first challenger will be here sometime today. Also, don't pick fights with what's already in the lake. They're there for a reason._"

A snarl of acceptance and it disappears beneath the waves of the Black Lake.

I know I'm smiling like a kid in a candy store. I then point my wand at the front gate, and begin chanting in Assyrian again.

"You are your father's son, aren't you?" asks Lily.

"What the hell was that!" shouts Sirius.

"_Oh, no, there goes Tokyo,_" sings Lily, rather off-key.

Hedwig just breaks down into giggles at this. Which reminds me. This means I can go to Japan and see them in theatres. Awesome.

"No, really, _what the hell was that!_" shouts Sirius. James is sort of just standing there, dumbfounded.

"We need a movie night," Hedwig tells Lily.

"We do," replies Lily.

"Is there anything we can do?" asks Tonks, confused by all of this.

"Shore up the castle's bombardment defences with McGonagall," says Hedwig after a moment's thought. "Tonks, can you check on Sally-Anne?"

"Of course," replies Tonks. "Before I go..."

"Yes?" asks Hedwig.

"How do you know Gellert's coming here?"

"He'll want his wand back," replies Hedwig. "He'll be coming for Jamie because of that."

"But... how would he know Jamie has it?" asks Tonks.

"Didn't you listen to Severus? Jamie's not fighting just Grindelwald. She's also fighting Dumbledore."

They look at each other, confused.

"But... Dumbledore's dead..." begins Lily.

"Yes. Much in the same way Voldemort was dead."

"He had another one? But who did he murder?" asks James.

"Dumbledore never murdered anyone," supplies Hedwig. "His diary was made after the death of Ariana, where he _literally_ poured his grief and despair into it over his sister's death, and with it a piece of his own soul."

"But... splitting your soul..." says Lily. Of course she studied the Horcruxes. She probably even asked Slughorn. It's not like he could say no to her.

"Takes power. Something Dumbledore has in spades. It's not a joke to say he's the most power wizard in the world."

"Then his second?" asks Sirius.

"Albus had to make himself fight Gellert. A part of him still loved the man."

"Loved?" asks Sirius.

"In the bedroom manner. Ask Bathilda. She still has some of her nephew's letters."

"I think I'll hold off on that," replies Sirius, looking a little green. There's the pureblood disgust I was expecting. "So, er, back to the fight?"

"Of course. Much as Albus felt he needed to defeat Gellert, he couldn't. He still loved him. So, being the foolish idiot Albus is, he poured his love of Gellert... into Gellert."

"He made Gellert Grindelwald a Horcrux," says James.

"Indeed. And then locked the man away, safe and protected."

The three of them watched as a fog bank bubbles forth from the ground, enveloping the fields outside the gate.

Wand in hand, I grab Tonks, and give a kiss. Maybe it's a little fervent, maybe it's a little wanting, and maybe I'm worried about the combination of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald killing me.

"Get going. I'm going to be putting down more defences, and none of them are going to pleasant. I'll be back when this is over."

She nods, and follows the others back to the castle. The Elder Wand points once more towards the gates, and I chant once again in Assyrian.

0x0x0x0

I'm sitting on the roof of a tower, staring at Hogsmeade, under a rather large umbrella. A few charms are protecting me from the gale-force winds, as there is now a localised Typhoon in Northern Scotland. It's a Japanese ward that I've added to the castle. It's the same bit of spellwork that capsized two Korean invasions over the last millennium. I've prepped the defences and weighted the field of battle to my advantage as much as possible. Hogwarts may be a school now, but it was once a castle. There's only one good approach to it. There's the valley on the western side, the forest to the north, and the lake to the east. Hogsmeade is to the south.

The village itself has been emptied, the villagers either in the castle, or at the Ministry. A force of Aurors has stationed themselves in the castle, cowed by McGonagall into hiding behind the battlements to let me do my work. There are also a few reporters. The map says Skeeter is skulking about, somewhere.

Hedwig lands on the roof next to me, hiding under the umbrella.

"Sally-Anne's worried about you."

"I know," I reply. "You tell her to stay safe?"

"Of course."

I smile, and nod.

Hedwig perks up, looking around.

"He's on the move again."

I nod, and look down at the fields around Hogsmeade. The anti-portkey wards on the castle have tightened down. Nothing's getting through them, not even the Headmistress' own. The other wards are in full lockdown. The common rooms are sealed, not that it means anything.

One moment, the farmland around Hogsmeade is empty, the next, it's filled with boxes of beige and dark green.

Gellert knew he wouldn't just be fighting the Wizarding World. He watched as Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union performed tank duels and ran bombing runs. He observed the D-Day invasion of Britain into France, making careful note of the huge bombardment of shells, bombs, and firepower into the Normandy coast. He realised how the muggles would conduct war, and began preparing appropriately.

He couldn't power them with petrol, and he couldn't put a team of wizards inside of them. Instead, he made them from clockwork, and stole the work of Charles Babbage to give it a brain. Clockwork machines, backed by a clockwork intelligence, powered by magic. Each and every one of them modelled after German tanks.

A quick count says around two hundred and fifty tanks have just portkeyed into the farmland around Hogsmeade. I'm not sure on the actual model numbers, but I know the two hundred medium tanks are Panzers, while the fifty heavy ones are Tigers. The Tigers immediately become stuck in the mud of the fields. Some of the Panzers break off to free the Tigers, while the rest begin to advance on the town.

I'm prepared.

Much like my house, I've scattered animated statuary through the town, alongside things best described as "runic landmines" in the fields outside of it. Just outside the very gates of Hogwarts are my final two defences, wreathed in fog. They're awake at the moment, but they aren't yet mobile.

My friend, alongside my first summon, are still hiding in the lake.

I don't want to make any mistakes with this. I don't waste any magical power on spellwork to destroy the Tanks.

"He's arriving," says Hedwig.

I glance at the lake, and smile at the sudden massive splash that appears there.

I consider a portkey that can place a two hundred and fifty meter battleship in the exact centre of the Black Lake, from Eastern Europe, to be a work of art. What must be fifty thousand tons of metal displaces a small tidal wave, and the boat rocks back and forth regaining its balance. I take a moment to examine it.

I was never one for history, but even I can recognise a battleship when I see one. I blink a few times in realisation of how _big_ the thing is, larger than any mobile object the Wizarding World has ever built. The fact that it was built in secret is something that both terrifies and amuses me. I now feel like Luke Skywalker taking on the Death Star, except there's no thermal exhaust port to shoot a torpedo down. Hmph.

A quick look at the battleship itself, and I can already tell that its big guns can be classified as "large enough to fit Hagrid's leg." They're already swinging towards the castle. They're joined by three small turrets and four even smaller ones around the bridge tower and smoke stack, probably in the range of four to six inches. I can guess that there's an equal number on the opposite side of the ship. Hedwig says Grindledore is on it.

I name her the _SS Goatfucker_. And yes, I'm calling him Grindledore. It's almost as amusing as Fudge saying "Lord Thingie."

I'll deal with Grindledore first, then.

My first bit of spellwork of the day was in Ancient Assyrian. Calling it Ancient Assyrian is a linguistics Professor's joke on everybody else. It's linguistically unrelated to any other language on the planet, except for Finnish.

Four thousand odd years ago, King Nimrod, son of Cush, ruled a segment of ancient Shinar. Within his domain was the city of Babel. Nimrod was an arrogant fool, and others gathered behind him. The records claim he was building a tower to the heavens. Those records are bullshit.

Nimrod was building a gateway to the Land of the Dead. His favourite wife had died in childbirth, and he refused to accept it. I suppose I'm a man after his own heart, but I was smart enough to fail properly, rather than face Death. Death was kind to those under Nimrod, and merely sowed discord and confusion amongst the people, taking away their common language: Ancient Assyrian.

Nimrod, however, was forever banned from the Land of the Dead. His soul was split into sixteen pieces, and those sixteen pieces were placed into indestructible Colossi. The Master of Death can summon and direct them.

I've summoned three. Two of those Colossi stand at the gates to Hogwarts, and were the final two I summoned. The first one is in the lake with the protector of the stone. I was tempted to try and summon one as a guardian for my back yard, but didn't feel like rebuilding my house after an attack.

I smile as I hear the first thunderous boom of the colossi attacking the _Goatfucker._

"Should I attack?" comes a girl's voice. I turn, surprised, to see... to see... Jessica. She's standing in the rain, dry and unassuming, dressed in the same plain clothes she wore the day she died. I swallow.

"Jessica?" I ask.

She nods.

"Should I attack?" she asks again.

My mind does the quick math. She isn't truly there. She's a ghost, called up by the stone to be the intelligence behind its protector. That doesn't mean I can't be kind.

"Stay below the water. Keep to the centre of it, below the smoke stack. Tear apart the hull, rip it open and let in the water."

She seems to look out through the torrential downpour to see the battleship. I don't physically see it, couldn't see it even on a bright clear day given how terrible my eyes are, instead I'm paying attention to it all magically.

Right then. First magic of the day. I need to break this fucker.

The Elder Wand twitches in my hand and Black Lightning arcs down from the heavens, crashing down through one of the turrets. The magazine goes up, and it's a fireworks display the Weasley twins wish they could pull off. Even as the back-end is going up, another bolt comes down from the heavens, smashing into one of the front turrets. A golden shield is already beginning to form, but the bolt still manages to strike one of the turrets. It bursts into a rainbow of flames, the steel of the armour pouring out onto the deck. Only one turret's left, but that's still two thirteen-inch guns.

"Jessica, take out the propellers and the rudder, then rip up the back end."

She nods again, even as I order the wind to change. Waterspouts form over the lake, and begin to pound Grindledore's golden shield. They won't get through it, but that's not my concern. I want him wasting his strength on that shield. I watch as the flames go out, not because of the water, but because of charms. One of the front turrets is trying to rebuild itself, but it's not getting anywhere very quickly.

Honestly? Repairing charms on steel? The only substance harder to work with magically is cold iron. The fact that he's trying means he's either supremely confident in crushing me, or he feels he needs the _Goatfucker_ to establish his power.

The first pair of thirteen-inch shells hit the tower I'm standing on, shaking it. Hogwarts can stand up to this sort of punishment, though, but I send Hedwig into the air to keep an eye on the tower itself. I don't need it coming down while I'm still standing on it. The smaller shells screech by me, Hogwarts' own cannon redirection ward dealing with them easily. At a guess, he's using the big guns to break the tower I'm on, while using the smaller shells to just blast me off the roof.

The bright glow of flames appears from Hogsmeade. There's nothing I can do about the _Goatfucker_ at the moment, so I switch my attention to something I can deal with.

The tanks have moved into and around the village, and have hit any number of the tricks and traps I've left for them.

Grindledore, at least, knew how to enter a village using tanks: Namely through the houses. Unfortunately, he didn't expect there to be that many basements and lost seven tanks to falling into them.

Animated statues and gargoyles from the castle assault and assail the others, attacking from the cover provided by the village, stripping off treads and breaking barrels of guns. I don't need the tanks destroyed, not yet, at least, but "Mission-killing" them is important enough. The tanks actually work well together, making me think they have some sort of interconnection, and quickly begin to support each other as they back out of the town, deciding it's a death trap. The fields around the village aren't much better, though.

When I was drunkard alcoholic, I did exceedingly stupid things. One of them was play with Gubraithian Fire. The standard Gubraithian Fire will be a lit campfire for practically forever. There's a modification of the spell that does the opposite, bright and fast for five minutes, burning hotter than thermite. Add a few modifications to the spell to shape the direction of the flame, a few different types of immobilization spells around it, and a small detection ward, and I have myself an improvised explosive magic that'll melt the Ring of Sauron. I've never tried it on a Horcrux, but I didn't come across any after I killed Voldemort.

They make short work of tanks, I will say that.

It turns out the mission-killed ones aren't mission-killed. Instead, they're single-use mine sweepers.

Given the visibility, I decide it's worth the risk, and have the army of statuary in the village attack the Panzers. I watch as they charge through the fields, whether galloping, running, or skittering.

"You're starting to lose the tower," says Hedwig, even as another blast of those two damn guns hits it. He's managed to get one of the guns in the damaged turret working, but with a heavily damaged double-gun turret, the _Goatfucker_ can't keep it lined up between shots and has to re-aim every time.

"Jessica, travel along the underbelly, and tear it open. That boat probably has compartments to prevent it from sinking."

She nods, and disappears. I drop off the tower, taking flight to keep from splattering on the ground, but still keeping a good view of the battlefield.

I'm losing statues fast enough that the charge was almost wasn't worth it. More Panzers have broken off to try and free the Tigers, and I decide I don't want them entering the fight at all.

I send a command to one of the Colossi. It begins to move, unfurling from its position as a burial mound, and beginning to close the distance at a ponderous gait. About sixty feet tall, covered in heavy brown fur, and carrying an appropriately sized club, everything else on the battlefield stops for a moment.

The Tigers figure out what's going on, and immediately open fire, not that it notices. Hell, the _Goatfucker_ fires on it, and it doesn't notice. A colossus isn't some creature to be beaten by prolonged fire. It is a creation of Death Itself, and does not fuck around. The loud bangs of tank fire are drowned out by the thundering footfalls of a thing that cannot be killed, merely vanquished or destroyed, destined to rise again.

This is the grand-daddy of all Horcruxes, made by the original bastard that invented them. It is the hand-crafted masterpiece that the cheap Chinese knock-offs are based on. Destroying it makes it _go away_, telling it to lie in wait to be summoned again. I've never put any effort into studying how to permanently destroy these things. I'm not one to piss off Death, after all.

Well, maybe a little bit. But not a lot.

Grindledore apparates from the _Goatfucker_ to shore, and unleashes a blasting curse that levels half of Hogsmeade. No warm-up, no practice, just pop into existence and _boom_. Half of Hogsmeade is a smoking crater.

The colossus ignores it, although its fur is a little more matted and charred than before.

Grindledore transfigures the rubble into a trio of earth elementals, each towering over the colossus. The colossus swings its club at one of the elementals. The elemental raises its arms to block, but it's not enough. The elemental crumples, the club turning it back to earth. One of the other elementals kidney punches the colossus. It barely notices, and instead continues its ponderous gait towards the Tigers.

Grindledore tries to raise stone barriers, to wrap the thing in chains, and even transfigures more elementals to grapple the colossus. He never manages to even get it off its feet, let alone slow it down.

Meanwhile, the Panzers have managed to navigate the minefield, and are closing on the front gates of the castle, and my fourth and final large friend.

I direct it, and it begins its own assault. Grindledore once more attempt to envelop and entrap this one as well. It appears he's now trying two separate methods for each colossus, trying to find something that will work. I shake my head in disgust, even as several Panzers slip past my final guardian, and crash through the front gate.

At present, he appears to be attempting to sink the first one into a Volcano. I'm tempted to shout that it's not a ring of power, but I doubt Albus is one to have read Tolkien.

A flick of Banyan wood and a purple behemoth lunges out of the ground and overthrows the first Panzer, flipping it onto its turret. Two more unbury themselves, assaulting the other Panzers. It's a beautiful sight, to watch twelve tons of muscle-bound fantasy monster overturn a fifty-ton tank.

I'll have to show them to Luna, see what she makes of them. I glance back out over the lake, and note that the water is creeping ever higher on the _SS Goatfucker_, even as Grindledore's golden shield protects it against the relentless waterspouts.

Given his present distractions of my Colossi, I direct the wards to create another waterspout, this one aimed at those damn heavy tanks. I admit, I really don't like them, but I don't want to personally waste my own magic destroying them. Let Hogwarts do the heavy lifting on that one. She's got the magic to spare, and she bloody well owes me.

By this point, I'm floating on the winds, letting them take me where they will, watching another waterspout hit those damn tanks with the fist of an angry god. It's a work of wonder and beauty, a black column of destruction lifting the fuckers up and tossing them around like Dudley and someone else's ball. Grindledore's too busy trying to protect them from the Colossi to protect them from anything else. I smile. Soon it's going to be just me and him.

And at that point, I frown. I've been very lucky so far, as Grindledore hasn't figured out how to destroy the Colossi yet.

Ah, wait, there it goes. I can feel the detection spell from here. Right now, it's a question of how good he is with it. The detection spell he's using (which is the necessary one) is rather akin to a microscope, rather than the telescope he's using it as. I make it difficult for him, letting him sink into the analysis spell, before twitching my wand again.

It's the same spell I used on the basilisk. There's an incantation to it I haven't used in years (and that I'm not going to repeat), but it's commonly called "The Demon Cutter." It cuts through nearly all shield spells, and is one of the few spells that actually harms dragons. The purple wedge of power slams into a transfigured barrier, hacks right through it, and Grindledore manages to knock it aside. I don't think it made contact, but I send a few more just to keep him on his toes while he investigates the Colossi, slows them down, and tries to save the _Goatfucker_.

Honestly, he's doing this to himself. If he hadn't brought an army, he'd probably have won by now. I start mixing up my curses, switching to shield-breakers, blasters, bone-detonators, a rather strange implosion curse an American muggleborn came up with after learning about black holes, and then there's the litany of over-powered household charms.

Strange fact: I still don't use dark magic. The Demon Cutter isn't actually dark. It's just quirky. Then again, the modified paint-stripping charm I send at Grindledore would flay his flesh from his bones.

There's probably something to be said about that, somewhere.

I also send a spray of lode iron spears. Casting magic on lode iron is difficult, so I don't conjure it. Instead, I conjure steel, banish them, and then cast an odd purifying charm that removes the impurities and orders it to magnetize it. It's a cheat, but magic is weird about these sorts of rules.

It doesn't hit Grindledore, though, although it makes him pause in his casting enough.

No, never mind, he's renewing the shield charm on the _Goatfucker._ Bollocks.

I continue my stream of curses, while I try to think of some way out of this that doesn't involve falling into a slugmatch. I know I'm more skilled than Grindledore. It's not a question. Albus and Gellert relied purely on power in their duelling. It's largely the reason I've lasted this long against Grindledore. He's expecting his power to carry the day again.

Given the way he's been using it, it still might.

I spare a glance at the southern fields of Hogsmeade, and see the tornado has destroyed most of Grindledore's heavy tanks, although a few have escaped and caught up with the rest of his army. Damn. Was hoping to get them all. I'll have to kill those myself. Another golden shield has risen over his tanks, and his holding off my tornado once more.

Banyan wood flicks a few times, and more behemoths arise from the earth, widening the trenches to make it harder for the tanks, and barrel off to annoy Grindledore. Maybe I'll get lucky, but I doubt it. I also make a few small animals, including a lone rabbit, and litter them near the gate. He's got to walk through it, at some point.

The _Goatfucker_ is officially treading water. The lake is coming in over the decks, and the Colossi is jumping onto the deck to slam holes through it. Jessica's still keeping below the water, thankfully. Let him think there are two of those things.

The brilliant white flash says everything I need to know. The first colossus reels, a blow struck against it. I smile as Grindledore casts it again. He has to use the full incantation, and then throws with his off hand. His aim's off on the second throw, and hits only skull. There's a few names for the spell, a few jokers of called it the Lance of Longinus, Gungnir, or even Merlin's Spear. Full of shit, the lot of them. The spell was originally created by one of the Scorpion Kings to hunt Nundu.

The third throw sends the colossus crashing to the ground.

I return the favour, by sending three of the lances at him. Let him figure out how the hell I pulled it off, as he dodges like the crotchety old maniac he is. That's my other hope for winning, right there. Grindelwald's an old man, and while the Unforgivables are unblockable, there's a good supply of nigh-unblockables ones as well.

The _Goatfucker_ gives its last gasp, a final broadside that I safely ignore, before it sinks below the waves. Let the squid and the colossus have their way with it. The golden shield protecting it disappears. With that out of the way, I let up on the rain. I don't need it anymore, and it's in my way at this point. It'll take a few minutes to clear up, though.

"Jessica, if you can hear me, make your way to shore. Hedwig, tell McGonagall I'll need blasting curses at those tanks."

"I'll tell her they're cursed muggle machines."

"Whatever you need to do," I reply. My steady stream of nearly lost spells means Grindledore needs five throws to take down the other colossus. Good. Maybe he's finally getting tired. It wouldn't surprise me if he's faking it though.

The first two Tigers through the gate push the trio of behemoths back, only to crash into the trenches I made the behemoths from. Grindledore tries to levitate them, while sending his earth elementals at me. The behemoths have already torn apart the Tigers, and a Japanese Earthquake ward causes their outer skin to harden and shatter, while their insides turn to hydrostatic mud.

Inventive xenophobes, the Japanese.

Grindledore transfigures his own batch of monsters to defend his tanks, an eclectic mix of old-world demons and happy-looking zoo animals. I reply with even more small, venomous animals. Part of me wonders if I can transfigure a basilisk, even as a herd of cats take down a trio of oliphants.

He's finally fighting back directly, but he's keeping mostly to overpowered basic charms. Nothing too frightening, but his overpowered Reductor Curse will make me just as dead f it hits. I keep low to the ground, staying out of the way of the smattering of blasting curses from the castle. Now that the rain's cleared up, it seems asking for the Aurors wasn't a bad idea.

His tanks return fire, but they're facing off against the castle's anti-bombardment wards again. The tanks are wasting ammo, and the behemoths are making short work of them. Grindledore realises he can't back away, otherwise he'll be dealing with an entire castle of wizards firing at him.

I feel a surge of hatred attempt to flow through my veins, and I smile. Albus is here, and I've pissed him off a fair bit.

I utter my first incantation in the entire duel.

"_Expecto Patronum_."

Part of me is worried. Will it still be a stag? Will it still be my father? I smile with untarnished, innocent glee. The hate melts away as the familiar stag takes shape, following me through the storm.

My wand goes to my throat for a second.

"Not going to work, Old Boy," I shout out into the storm, and then slash down the Black Lightning on him. Oh that just pisses him off. Prongs stays around me, and I work hard at mixing together minor object-to-animal, major curses, and the rare earth-to-behemoth transfiguration.

There's a frantic joy, a meticulous and ridiculous love of flight and combat, throwing spells and directing death beneath me. I actually spare a single spell to launch some Fiendfyre at one of the Tigers, before returning to Albus with a miscast paint-stripping charm. Grindledore ignores it until it's too late, busy incinerating a group of squirrels, redirecting a massed ballista charm, and shielding one of his Tigers, and mostly manages to dodge. It only flays the skin from his left arm.

My first hit of the battle gets me a wave-banisher that I never use because it's a power hog. Everything is tossed into the air, while I'm sent spinning, and hit the ground hard. A good cushioning spell prevents any major damage, but I'm winded and I've got a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder. A pair of battlefield charms pops the shoulder back in and immobilize the wrist. I ignore the pain and lift to my feet, conjuring the Black Lightning again. I'm not allowed to let up.

"GET OVER HERE YOU BITCH! COME AND DIE!" screams Grindledore in fluent German, even as a spray of rainbow death floods the spot I once inhabited. I'm stupid, and don't shield behind me. An explosion of stone tears up my back, and I crash back to the ground. I'd heal it, but I don't feel like having my skin regrown just to pull all the stone out, and I don't have the time to do it myself. Instead, I lead off with another trio of lances, and then follow up with my own rainbow of bullshit, mixing in shield-crackers, deflection curses, a children's sleeping charm, six different stunners, and a blood-boiling curse.

He deflects everything, nearly everything, but the blood boiling curse makes him wince. Bastard. I can tell he's breathing hard, at least, and whatever battlefield charms he cast on his arm have just evaporated.

Good. Except now I'm staying on the ground. My banyan wand never stops moving, creating more behemoths, oliphants, and other large creatures as mobile walls. The Elder Wand's spells are a bit more what-the-hell, and I know he's got no defence. I lead off with a Roman Earthquake spell, followed up with one of two spells some lunatic muggleborn invented. I shoot three yellow balls above Grindledore, even as more lightning strikes against whatever shield he's using.

He's killing the large animals slightly slower than I can create them. Is it because he's injured, or because he's doing something with his wand arm? No idea, but the M.I.R.V. spell will ruin it.

There's three, quick blinding flashes and deafening booms. I didn't get the timing right, they're not all at once, but I hear Grindledore's yell of annoyance and pain as each ball launches an even-dozen bombardment spells that curve to hit from different directions.

The other spell is just as weird, and a little hard to set up. The motions have to be just right, but the incantation was made up by a half-deaf guy, so it doesn't matter. It amuses me a little to be using a spell that translates to "The Grey Lady" in defence of Hogwarts.

It classifies as an explosion or bombardment curse, just like the M.I.R.V. spell, but definitely doesn't act like one. Well, doesn't act like a sane one. I don't want to know how much effort was put into creating this spell, and I'm thankful I've never had to understand how it was put together. Instead, I just use it.

The spell tried to be the magical version of carpet bombing, but instead turned into a rather terrifying siege engine spell. The underlying arithmancy is the same math that drops bombs from muggle bombers, apparently. The spell travels in a straight line, dropping blasting curses. Except the curses are specially timed, and aren't small, either. Each blasting curse creates an explosion, and the next blasting curse detonates right behind the shockwave from the previous blasting curse, adding to it. Adding more power adds to the blasting curses. For someone like me, it's a pretty nasty spell.

It was also stupid of me. He hits me with a lance. Straight through the lung, missed my heart by maybe three inches. I seal up that part of my lung, and conjure a piece of titanium as I dispel the lance. A little on the fancy side, but I need to be able to continue moving, and an eight foot spear through my chest is going to slow me down.

Well... that assumes I can get back on my feet. I'm kind of beat up by this point.

Fuck it, another goddamn Gray Lady.

"Jessica, any time now," I mutter, as I starting the wand movements again.

"Now?" she asks, once more at my side.

"Now, please."

"Alright."

"You're a wonder," I reply. She blinks at that, unsure of what to say.

She actually times it pretty well. I can feel the sudden build up of magical energy, the wave of cold, draining power, and then the blast of super-heated plasmatic death.

Grindledore screams in pain as he shields it, and then is cut short by the Gray Lady.

"Is he dead?" I ask.

"Not yet," replies Jessica.

"Damn," I say, and drag myself to my feet. "He still moving?"

"A little."

I grunt, and look across the field of battle. It looks like a massacre on the Veldt, corpses of animals, very few smaller than a car litter the entire field. Crushed and broken tanks hide at the edges, and there's an empty circle where Grindledore is forcing himself to stand.

"Hit him again," I say.

I close my eyes to the sucking cold void of magic, and then the blast of horrible light, and then open them. Grindledore is now twenty feet away from where he was standing, and I can see steam rising up from where he was. Even still, he's expending a fair bit of power healing himself, wand still in hand. I'm not even running, as I start casting again. I solely using my left side, given it's my right lung that has the hole through it.

Poppy will have my hide, but she can have it after I've killed this fucker.

Jessica walks beside me, and I get a rather creepy sense of déjà vu. I shake it off, and instead swat the cutting curse that Grindledore sends at me.

"Give it up, you ancient fuck," I say, my voice magically enhanced. I'm not about to shout with a damaged lung. Hell, it hurts enough as it is.

"Bitch!" shouts Grindledore. He looks more corpse than living man. Half his body is blackened and charred, even as his magic tries to repair the damage. His skin actually cracks apart and bleeds as he shouts at me. "Worthless whore! Do you not understand what I must do?"

"Tom's dead, you fuck, and your Greater Good's at the bottom of the lake."

"I can raise it!" replies Grindledore. "And the prophecy!"

"Was fulfilled," I reply. "It's over. It's all over. Now fucking die, already."

I send a pair of lances at him, and he desperately swats them aside. I notice a flash of white fur behind him, and I wonder if it's really going to come down to that.

"Never! I must complete my work! I _must_ complete our work!"

One of his eyes is as charred as the rest of him, while the other can't seem to focus on me. He's watching me solely on my magic. I use a few more sharp and quick spells, making him focus entirely on me.

"You can't even see, you worthless bastard!"

"The prophecy! The girl!"

"Is _dead!_ Can't you see that, now?"

He's silent as he swats aside another Demon Cutter.

"I will win!" he shouts, and one of his own unknowable horrifying shit assaults me. It takes a fair amount of effort to turn it aside, some sort of twisted acid-based cutter. Nothing Unforgivable, but definitely the kind of thing which doesn't leave enough for an open-casket funeral.

I send a few spells back in response, but we're both on our last legs. We're still standing by sheer force of will, and his magic is keeping him alive much the same way.

Except... well.

The rabbit leaps, and bites Grindledore's good arm. He blinks in surprise, and then his screaming starts as the venom begins killing him.

Death by rabbit. Not the best death one could imagine, but a deserving one. I dispel the rabbit before it does anything stupid, and then drop to my butt. I don't feel like walking now.

"Jessica, if you want to stomp on him repeatedly, you can. I don't think anyone is going to care about him having a flattened corpse."

Jessica's silent, even as her body stomps out of the lake, making its way here.

"Oh, and Miss Skeeter?" I ask, sensing the witch's presence now that the duel is over. "If you keep quiet about that fucker's comments about a prophecy for the moment, I can get you an exclusive interview with both myself and the Potters, and some dirt on Dumbledore. Or I can squish you like a bug right now. If you agree, land on my left shoulder."

I note an ugly blue beetle land on my left shoulder.

"Excellent, Miss Skeeter. I do believe you have a rather fantastical article to write, and I have a rather lengthy stay with Miss Pomfrey ahead of me. You also have an exclusive interview once I'm awake and about. I'll contact you after I escape the good mediwitch's clutches."

I watch Jessica stomp on Grindledore's body, and then grind her heel into the dirt. Which is the point I collapse into the mud and black out.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Notes:**Brought to you by Dragonforce's "Through the Fire and Flames" and Fucked Up's "Year of the Pig."

The _SS Goatfucker_ is modelled on the German Bismark-Class battleship. I'd originally planned on stating its class, and listing it's specs, mostly in the form of gun-sizes so it would be easier to state which was firing at what. Then I realised it didn't matter in the slightest, and also I'd never really stated Jamie was much of a history buff, so I didn't bother. For the record, though, the big turrets on a Bismark-class Battleship are 15", while the smaller armoured turret guns are 6" and 4". All of them are in double turrets, with 4 doubles of 15" that can fire to either side, 6 doubles of the 6", and 8 doubles of the 4". The 6" and 4" guns can only fire to one side, and the 4" were anti-aircraft guns. Everything smaller than that, would be comparable to just standing outside the castle wards and spitting at them. The entire thing's about 250 meters in length, and weighs in about 50,000 tons.

Numbers, however, mean very little. If you ever get the chance, there's a number of battleships as floating museums, whether in the US or other countries. Seeing them is always an experience. Looking at a gun with a barrel a small child can crawl down is always _weird_. Walking through the magazine of one of those museum ships, and seeing how big the shells they fire are is also a strange experience.

Before anyone asks, yes, Hogwarts has anti-bombardment wards. They've likely been around since the castle was first built to defend against catapults and ballista, and were only made stronger when cannons were first built. They were probably modified again during World War II to withstand bombs, even if nothing ever reached Scotland.

In case you missed it, the Colossi are from Shadow of the Colossus. The demon from it is named "Dormin" which is "Nimrod" backwards. Nimrod actually was the king who commissioned the Tower of Babel. The new version seems like such a Wizarding Story. Someone messes with Death, and Death reminds them that _he's death, and he does not fuck around_.

The _SS Goatfucker_ was a late addition, but I'd wanted to write a story with magical tanks for a while. The story I'm in the process of putting together (and I'm planning it better than I planned other ones, at least) was originally going to be a little different. I'll have to make a few notes about it once I do publish it.


	12. Chapter the Last: The Finale

Disclaimer: If you haven't figured it out by now, I don't think there's any hope for you left.

**Jamie Evans and Fate's Bitch**

**Chapter the Last – Finale**

0x0x0x0

"Hi, Poppy," I croak out, as I hear her grumbling back and forth, muttering about "continuing even after foolish injuries" and "near death experiences."

"Miss Evans," she grinds out. "You are aware you had a pierced lung by the end of your little confrontation?"

"Difficult to ignore," I reply. My voice comes out pretty groggy and dry, and she lets me drink some water.

"That and your back. You practiced very good field medicine in immobilizing your wrist, but your continued use of your shoulder aggravated the injury, and you'll be a sling once you're out of bed."

I nod, knowing better than to talk with a pierced lung.

"Leaving the lance in probably saved your life, as well."

I don't fill in that I dispelled the lance and conjured a replacement at the same time. I know she won't be happy about it. Instead, I lie back and listen to her complain about my injuries while backhandedly complimenting me for my attempts to keep myself from being dead.

I turn my head, and make a note of a rather unconscious Tonks. She's even drooling a little bit. Clothing's rumpled, hair's a mess, and she's got obvious circles under her eyes. Makes me wonder how long I was out. Two or three days, maybe.

"She hasn't left your side very often," fills in Poppy. "A few meals here and there."

I can take a solid hint, as I levitate myself into a sitting position. Poppy gives me a flat glare, even as I take a drink of water. I can feel the slight tingle of day-old Skele-Gro. I flex my left hand a few times, and gently stretch my wrist.

"Two or three days, right?" I ask.

"Three," replies Poppy. "It's a little before lunchtime. You can expect a visit from Miss Perks, along with several of her friends."

I nod, and give her a small smile as she moves on.

A few minutes pass before Sally-Anne enters, and then immediately rushes my bed. I manoeuvre myself so that she doesn't crush any injuries.

"How are you, huh?" I ask.

"How am I?" she asks. "You!"

There's a grunt from nearby.

"Jamie?" asks a barely-awake Tonks.

"No, you're dreaming. Go back to sleep. You need it."

"Mm, okay," mumbles Tonks. Sally-Anne and I watch her roll back over and fall back asleep on the bed next to mine.

Sally-Anne immediately giggles, while I feel the smirk tug across my face.

"Wait-a-minute," mutters Tonks. She turns back over and then glares at me. She promptly pinches herself, and then stumbles out of the bed and into mine.

"Afternoon, sleepyhead," I say.

"Sleepyhead yourself. You hair isn't helped by this."

"I'm not a sleepyhead. I'm _recuperating_. There's a difference."

"Is this the same difference that makes banana sundaes healthy?" asks Sally-Anne.

"Yes," Tonks replies.

"Banana sundaes are healthy?" I ask.

"Yep. They've got a banana on them," replies Sally-Anne.

"Are you corrupting my not-yet-but-soon-to-be daughter?" I ask.

"Yes, yes I am. What are you going to do about it?" asks Tonks.

"Icky, terrible things. Sally-Anne, cover your eyes."

There's a giggle, but I can only assume she covers her eyes because I'm suddenly a little busy kissing Tonks.

"Good to see you awake," says Tonks, after we come up for air.

"I think that's enough corrupting children. That, and I'm hungry. Where's lunch?"

Lunch is delivered by house-elf. While eating said lunch I learn about what's going on. Apparently, Skeeter did write her article, and it's pretty heavily slanted my way. I'm glad, for once. No one was seriously injured, although a few of the _SS Goatfucker's_ broadsides caused some structural damage to the school. Minerva's pleased with herself, while the Potters are still here.

In fact, all of them show up about midway through. We exchange pleasantries before I finally drag the conversation to business.

"So, should I be giving the Deputy position back to Sinistra?" I ask.

"I imagine you should. The Minister has asked to see you, as well," she replies.

"If that waste of flesh wants me for the Chief Warlock position, I've got a chunk of titanium he can sit on."

"Miss Evans," begins McGonagall.

"What?" I ask, completely innocent.

"I don't think you're supposed to say that about a government official," says James.

"Meh," I say, waving him off. "Oh, before I forget, I need to speak with you two in private."

James and Lily are both surprised by the request, but roll with it.

The conversation turns away, a little, to rehashing the damage to the castle. The tower I was on collapsed, but it wasn't really in use. It'll be rebuilt, and McGonagall wants me to add information on the weather ward I added so that someone else can control it. The Ministry's also whining because of the freak storm I caused. Granted, they'd whine if their dick was in their wife, so I guess it doesn't matter, really.

McGonagall is covering my classes, at the moment, while Tonks and Sally-Anne are covering my idiots. Tonks hasn't broken down and acted nice to the little brats, but wants me to.

Not like I wasn't planning on doing it on my own, but still. At least now I have someone to blame.

Sally-Anne and McGonagall head back to classes.

I glance at Tonks, give her a smile, and then wave my hand. A nice, solid privacy ward pops up around the bed. I notice Poppy give me another glare, even as I magically drag the privacy screen around the bed.

"So what's going on?" asks James.

"Two things. First, I promised Rita Skeeter an interview with all three of us to keep quiet about something that happened out there. Second, well... remember how I put the ring in Godzilla?"

"Yes," replies Lily, while James and Tonks look confused.

"Big grey reptile that I breathed life into?" I clarify.

They both nod.

"Interesting side effect. Can you wait a moment? Don't react? And try not to act too rashly, please?"

James and Lily nod.

"Jessica? Can you come here, please?"

And she's there. Confused, but there. Lily and James furrow their brows. Ah, right. I let them see her. They're surprised, but I raise my hand, one finger raised to say "Wait a moment."

"I wanted to thank you for your help."

She blinks, surprised.

"You want to... thank me?" she asks. "But..."

"You did a good job, Jessica. Thank you for your help."

There are tears in her eyes.

"It's been nice, I take it? On the other side?"

She nods.

"I'm glad you found some peace, finally. Why did you come back?"

"You... you were kind. Even though you didn't need to be. I... I wanted to be kind back."

I smile, and take her hand.

"I want you to meet some people, Jessica. But I want you to know something, first. You weren't abandoned."

"I wasn't?" she asks.

"No. You were stolen. The man you stomped on? It's complicated, but part of him was who stole you from your parents. He magiced them, so they couldn't find you, so they wouldn't find you."

She's silent for a long moment, before she asks the all important question.

"Petunia lied to me?" she asks.

"She lies about a lot of things. She's a lying bitch. Would you like to go to her trial for murdering you?"

Jessica blinks a few times at that statement.

"I..."

"Vernon's on trial, as well, and Dudley's been shipped to a foster home for disturbed children."

"I… I'd like that. Why, though? Why'd you do it?"

"Because you deserve to have someone get revenge for you. You deserve recognition, you deserve to have someone say you mattered, and that what happened to you was horrible, and that the ones who did it should be punished."

She doesn't know what to say.

"I know it's hard. I know it's hard to understand that you matter, that people care about you. I know it's difficult, and it's something you don't understand, yet. But you will, eventually, alright?"

"I will?" she asks.

"You will. People care about you. Not cared, but _care._ And they'd like to meet you, alright?"

She nods. We turn, to look at James and Lily.

"Jessica, I'd like to introduce you to your parents, James and Lily."

She turns to James and Lily.

"It's alright," I say. "It's alright to be afraid. But always know that they love you. They won't hurt you."

She nods, and steps forward. James and Lily kneel down, put themselves on her left, and slowly draw her into a hug. I feel like I shouldn't be here for this, and I think Tonks feels the same way as she sits down next to me again, leaning into me.

Lily is openly crying, while James is trying to man up and hold back the tears. Part of me wants to tell him I cried when James and Ginny died, but I don't. I don't want to interfere. Let them have their tears.

"She's gotten better, at least," I say, quietly.

"She's a ghost, isn't she?"

"No... but pretty close. The ring's strange. If I let it, she'd be invisible, intangible. But if I ask nicely... well... you see the result."

"She's really here, then?"

"As much as the dead can be," I reply. "She's a contradiction, I think. She only started living once she was dead. She'll want to move on, eventually. But for now... well. We'll see what happens."

0x0x0x0

I escape at the end of the day. Not because Poppy wants me to escape, it's more that she can't stop me, and I promise no strenuous activity. She gave me an incredulous look.

"I haven't performed any of that sort of strenuous activity since New Years, and I don't plan to start now," I tell her. She seems satisfied by that.

It doesn't stop Tonks and Sally-Anne following me all the way back to my quarters.

0x0x0x0

"Good morning, my pigeons of worthlessness. Auror Tonks has requested I take pity on you, and attempt to beat something into your head, rather than let you try and figure it out yourself. I mean, it's not like you've been paying attention to the two people who have successfully managed this magic, and instead whined about not being able to find the one book in the library that would tell you anything. The one book from the library that's been hidden in the right top drawer of my desk by the way."

Oh, the angry looks they give me. I give them all a cruel smile. They go all afraid and stoic. Much better.

Really, I'm not a Dark Lord. I _swear_.

"Now, you get to learn. The secret to silent magic, to wandless magic, is very simple. Forget incantations. Forget wand motions. It is no longer about casting the _Protego_ spell. It's about building a wall between my wand and your body with your magic. Will your magic, and it will follow. Be a whiney little bitch, and you will fail. Now, with these thoughts in mind, let us begin."

They all get something down within two days. A week and a half, and they've all figured it out both ways.

My stinging charm might have been a little more powerful, since I'm using the Elder Wand to cast them, too. Nothing they don't deserve for making me get up at the asscrack of dawn for four months.

Sirius joins us one morning, ostensibly to talk to me about teaching.

"Ah, Miss Evans?"

"Yes, Mister Black?"

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in teaching a class on duelling? As an elective?"

"Mister Black," I say, "I don't duel. I don't think I've ever been in an actual duel. I have either had the choice of fighting for my life, or dying."

Sirius nods, looking away. Tonks is up, and clutching a cup of hot coffee like it's a lifeline. I haven't needed any sort of caffeine in a very long time. Sally-Anne has a natural energy that I'd envy if I couldn't force myself through just about anything.

"Maybe for next year?" he asks, still looking at Tonks.

I nod, before I think of something. I distinctly recall Kingsley making a few jokes after Voldemort's demise, and I openly wonder if he wasn't actually joking.

"Actually, you're head of the House of Black, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then maybe there _is_ something you can help me with."

Sirius furrows his brows as I explain what I want, and then widens his eyes as he realises just why I'm asking. He quickly agrees, and he'll have his solicitor draw up the paperwork for it.

Back to classes.

0x0x0x0

Fudge does make his appearance, unfortunately.

During lunch, of course, and with the toad following him like an ugly pink yip-yip dog.

I look up at him with an extraordinarily uncaring expression. The pair of them shiver and fear.

"Can I help you?" I ask.

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

"That would be me. Who are you, and what do you want?"

That's a purposeful kick in the pants. I can already tell Sirius is trying not to laugh, while Severus' inscrutable expression is one of barely disguised amusement. Minerva is tight lipped, while Dolores is aghast that I don't know who Minister Fudge is.

"I'm the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge," supplies the oaf, green bowler hat in hand.

I nod, and then begin tapping my fingers, suggesting "well, get on with it." It's one of Dumbledore's tricks. It's one of the few useful things I learned from him. The other was how to lie by telling only the truth.

"Er, I'm here on behalf of the Ministry to thank you for your actions several days previous. There's already talk in the Wizengamot of awarding you the Order of Merlin First Class."

I nod, sagely. I glance down the tables to make note of a reporter with a dictation quill, and a photographer, waiting for the perfect photo opportunity. The opportunity is simply too good to pass up. A quick spell under the table and Umbridge immediately flinches.

"Er… don't you have anything to say?" asked Fudge, his voice lowered so it isn't caught by the dictation quill.

"Hmm?" I ask, noting Dolores has begun to sweat. Her breathing's become fairly shallow as well. "Not really, no. Recognition is for people who care about being recognised." I check my nails, and realise I really need to stop biting them. "An award I don't care about for something I would have done anyways? Pheh." I look at Umbridge, obviously. "Madam Marsh, is something the matter?"

"Umbridge!" she gasps, her eyes icy with hatred. I've known a number of Marshes. They're a similar mix of people. If they avoid the ocean, this doesn't happen to them. At Miskatonic, I knew a man named Ezekiel Marsh. He'd lived in Innsmouth, before moving to Arkham. His grandparents were killed in the raid, and his parents abandoned him to disappear beneath the waves. I probably killed them when I burned Father Dagon. He was a nice guy, but don't ever buy him seafood.

"My apologies, Madam Umbridge. Are you alright?"

"I'm… fine…" she gasps, and then she keels over. We're quick to remove her. It takes nearly four minutes for the spell to mutate her lungs into gills. Given the amount of thrashing she's trying to do, she won't make it. Poppy tries to directly oxygenate her blood, but Dolores' thickening scales prevent magic from properly working.

That still leaves her with two minutes of thrashing before her gills properly form. Well, it's more like a minute, followed by brain death.

Oops.

Note my utter despair at this turn of events. Utter. Despair.

Severus pulls me aside.

"I saw you cast a spell, Evans. Why?"

"One moment," I tell him, and walk over to Minerva. She's standing away from Poppy and Fudge. The reporters are standing nearby, somewhat stunned that this has happened. "Minerva? I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

"How many muggleborns were here when you started teaching?"

She blinks at the pure randomness of the question.

"Fifteen to twenty. Why?"

"Settling an argument. How many this year?"

"Eight," she says, and then blinks in surprise at that statement, then furrows her brow. "You know why, don't you?"

"Expect the number to go up, Minerva." I return to Severus, while Minerva is distracted once more by an extremely worried Minister.

"While thinking about the muggle population of Britain, does that answer your question Severus?"

"You are certain she was responsible?" he asks, the expressionless mask clamping down on his horror and revulsion.

"Certain enough. Only Hopkirk has access to those records, and while she's a straight-laced old bitch, she's a straight-laced old bitch."

At this, Severus nods.

"What spell did you use?"

I tell him. He nods, then goes to help Poppy. From his wand motions, I can tell he's performing the detection spells that will muddle and destroy any hope of ever identifying the spell.

"Excuse me… Miss Evans?" asks the reporter.

"Yes?"

"You called Madam Umbridge 'Madam Marsh'. Did you recognize her?"

"Marshes have distinctive magic due to their lineage. I worked around several at Miskatonic University."

"Lineage?"

I point at Umbridge's corpse.

"Somewhere, back in her line, was something that wasn't human. Something that not even Voldemort would allow into his ranks. And don't flinch, the bastard's been dead for ten years." I shake my head. "Something that decided now was a good time to come forward with obvious results. It does that. I've never seen it happen that quickly, but, well…" I shrug.

The reporter nods.

"Can I ask you a question about your fight with Grindelwald?"

"Sorry, I already promised my first interview on that to Rita Skeeter. Sadly, that won't happen until the end of classes."

The reporter looks like I just drop-kicked his puppy.

"So why aren't you helping Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey?" asks the reporter, changing tracks and attempting to dig dirt. Do they all do this?

"Because I'm a battlefield medic? Blunt trauma, lacerations, contusions, broken bones, and spilled guts I can deal with. Random bloodline illness coming to the fore? Your guess is as good as mine."

"But you knew she was a Marsh."

"So? That means I know about the potions they take to prevent the transformation. Do I have those on hand? No. Do I even know what they are, let alone how to make them? No. Now quit being a plaintive puny pissant, and bother the people who know what the hell they're doing. Maybe you should ask if they've detected them in her blood stream. If she wasn't taking them, she's a danger not just to herself, but others as well. The Marsh families of America were well known for their predilection for human flesh, after all."

He blinks at me, and realises how he can spin this to include some dirt, and goes to bother Severus the Potions Master. I give the greasy bastard a cheeky grin, and he scowls at both the reporter and me.

My work here is done.

0x0x0x0

"Professor Evans?" asks Harry Potter. There's still a weirdness in seeing Harry without a scar on his forehead. Well, that's not true. There is a scar, but it's pretty damn faint. I think the weirdness is seeing Harry Potter and not looking in the mirror to do it.

"Yes, Mister Potter?" I ask, looking up from the paperwork in front of me.

"I have a question."

"Alright."

"How are you related to my mother?"

Well, I suppose I should have expected that. He isn't a stupid kid.

"What makes you think I am?" I ask.

"You've got her eyes, your last name is Evans, you look out for me, and Mum and Dad were arguing about you before the Christmas Party."

I nod sagely.

"Mister Potter, your deductive reasoning is sound, and you've asked the correct question. Unfortunately, I will not be answering until after the school year is over."

"Why?"

"So that all the gossip is over and done with during the summer."

"Oh," said Harry. "Does this... er..."

"Yes?"

"Does this have anything to do with Jessica?"

I pause for a moment, and then give Harry a sad smile.

"I assume James and Lily weren't as secretive about her as they hoped?"

"There's a picture of her on the mantel," says Harry. "They'd never answer any questions about her."

"To answer your question, yes. It does have to do with Jessica. Everything will be answered once the school year's over."

"Okay," says Harry. "Does it also have to do with Sally-Anne?"

"Does _everybody_ know I'm adopting her?" I ask, rhetorically. Hermione once called the Hogwarts gossip network a proof of exponential growth. "It doesn't have to do with her, but I will be adopting her, and she has the right to know before that happens."

Harry nods.

"Anything else?"

"No, that was all, Professor."

"Alright. Thanks for stopping by, Harry. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Ok, Professor."

He's a good kid.

0x0x0x0

Skeeter's first interview is short, and to the point. We talk a little bit beforehand, off the record, to basically outline what's kosher in this interview, and what'll be covered in the next one. The fact that I have the last name Evans, and whatever mysterious connection I have to the Potters will be covered in that interview.

I also explained that if she mentioned the rabbit, no one would ever find her body. Gellert was stomped to death, and that was that.

"What's your reaction to having killed Grindelwald, a feat only Albus Dumbledore matched by defeating him?"

"Personally? Annoyance. I've had people staring at me, whispering and muttering about how I used dark magic to defeat him." I roll my eyes. "I didn't use a single dark spell."

"Those cutters are borderline," chimes in Hedwig.

"You aren't helping," I tell her. She snorts in derision, poking through some sort of paranormal romance smut she found. I'm not rightly sure _how_ exactly.

"Those transfigurations you performed, though…" begins Skeeter.

"What, the behemoths? Anybody can make those."

"Yes, but what were they?"

"Behemoths," I reply. "Sorry for the lesson, but not all animals transfigured have to _exist_. I could transfigure an eight-legged horse. Just because I can transfigure something, doesn't mean it has to exist in the first place." To make my point, I transfigure a desk into an eight-legged horse. It looks at the pair of us kinda funny, and then I dispel it.

"What she's trying to say, is that she needed something big, ugly, and big to destroy those cursed muggle machines," says Hedwig. "And I doubt she can transfigure a dragon."

"Hey! I can transfigure a dragon! It's just not easy!"

"You can, can you?" asks Skeeter.

"Sure." I pull my wand, and with a wave, all of the desks form into a well-behaved Welsh Green. "Like I said, though. It's not easy. Transfiguring two dozen of them in twenty minutes would likely kill me. I doubt even Dumbledore could pull that off."

"But surely a dragon would last longer, wouldn't it?"

"Not really. Dragons have to be fairly light to fly, but their hide wouldn't stand up to a single shell. Those shells are designed to pierce 3-inch thick steel, and are bigger than milk bottles."

"Three inches of _steel_?" asks Rita.

I nod.

"The bigger ones, at least. The smaller ones maybe only two inches."

Skeeter nods, some form of understanding being drawn to her vacant brain. Well, I shouldn't say that. Skeeter isn't stupid. She's just cruel.

"So… those monsters you transfigured, they don't really exist?"

"Not outside of fantastical literature," I reply. Not entirely true, but I'm not about to explain where a large purple behemoth comes from. Personally, she looks a little heartbroken that there's no lead.

"I'm sure the Quibbler will state otherwise," she replies. I don't make an argument on that point. "Now, eyewitness accounts state you expected Grindelwald to come to Hogwarts. Why?"

"Albus Dumbledore's grave is here." I point out the window to the shining white obelisk. "The pair of them had history. Gellert wasn't sane, you saw that. Unfortunately, I've had far too much experience with madmen. They fantasize, fixate, obsess. I don't know what he'd want to do with Albus' grave, maybe desecrate the body, raise it as an Inferi, or just take a dump on it. Who knows? But he would want to come to the grave of his greatest enemy."

Skeeter nods. She knows it's complete bullshit, but it's also the sort of bullshit the readers of the Daily Prophet will lap up without question.

"Madmen?" she asks.

"Miskatonic University," I reply. "Not all dark wizards become Dark Lords. Some just want to sit quietly, and perform highly questionable research."

"Such as?"

"You sure you or your readers want to know?"

"I'm sure they're curious."

"Tearing apart human souls to find out what makes some people magical, and others not."

She looks openly horrified.

"I figured I'd go with something that wouldn't make you puke. I will tell you something that'll make you feel better."

"What?"

"Miskatonic University awards Warlock Status for killing twelve faculty in open combat."

The dean was mostly annoyed that it had to replace said faculty. But so long as nothing damaged the library, it didn't care. There were always more dark wizards, after all.

Skeeter nods in understanding.

The interview rolls around back to the fight with Grindelwald, questions about what spells I used. Like I said, Skeeter's got a brain in her head. It's petty and vicious, but it's definitely there.

"Now, about your familiar," begins Skeeter.

"Awww, does this mean I have to really participate?" asks Hedwig. "I was just getting to the good parts!"

"Yes," I reply.

"Where did you get a harpy?" asks Skeeter, first thing first.

"I never purchased a harpy. I purchased a post owl."

On this, Skeeter is utterly silent.

"Entirely true," says Hedwig. "I used to be a snowy owl."

"But… that means…"

"What, that I was modified by whatever dark and evil magics are used to change poor innocent animals into hideous monsters?"

"Well, yes."

"No," replies Hedwig. "Have you ever heard of the Ritual of Familiarity?"

"Not off the top of my head."

"It's one of only three legal blood rituals, Miss Skeeter. Naturally, all three are still extremely dangerous. This ritual, obviously, binds you to your familiar, or the creature you wish to be your familiar."

"So you used this on a post owl?"

"I used it last summer on the post owl I'd owned since I was eleven," I replied.

Hedwig smirks at this.

"And what are your thoughts on this?" asks Skeeter.

"My thoughts? It's because of the ritual I can _have_ thoughts. I know Jamie loves me like family. Hell, when she used the ritual, I was the only family she had. When she performed the ritual, well… I obviously changed because of it."

"You changed because she loved you?"

"I was with her through thick and thin. Obviously, as an owl, but still. Normally, when the ritual is done, the magic flows the other way. Skills and abilities and changes flow into the wizard. This time, well, the opposite happened."

At this, Skeeter nods.

"It's an impressive change."

"Thank you. I rather like it," says Hedwig with a smile.

Probably the only time I ever had a good interview with Skeeter.

0x0x0x0

"_Finally_," I mutter, as the Hogwarts Express is leaving the station and heading south.

"They aren't that bad," says Sirius.

I glare at him. Solidly glare at him. Anti-love-child of Snape and McGonagall glare at him.

He retracts his statement so quickly, it has red-shift.

0x0x0x0

"You shouldn't be so worried," says Tonks. "She's going to love it. Just like everything else."

"Shut up," I mutter back to her. I can hear the train, now, and my anxieties are mounting. What if she doesn't like the house? What if she doesn't like the furniture I bought her? What if she changes her mind about the adoption? What if this? What if that?

I know I'm being an idiot. That doesn't stop my brain from being stupid.

"Day after tomorrow, right?" asks James, again.

I nod. The only night I could get everybody together, and it's two days away. I glance at the paperwork from the Wizengamot, informing me they require my presence four weeks from now. I've spoken with Sirius some more, and he's agreed, without even knowing what I'm going to tell him.

Trusting man.

Wormtail's dead. I asked James. My curiosity wasn't that great, since the Weasleys didn't own Scabbers, but I thought it might be a loose end. Turns out it wasn't. James and Sirius hunted him down together, and Sirius let the Black Blood boil in his veins.

James didn't need to say anything else. Bellatrix is what happens when the Black Blood gets away, and James has a bit of it in his veins, too. He betrayed, he murdered, he died.

I nodded, and told him how the Wormtail I knew was strangled with his own silver hand. James thought it fitting.

The train comes to a halt, and Sally-Anne eventually exits, with Hermione, Daphne, and Tracey Davis. It's kind of funny, watching that group leave the train. Two pureblood Slytherins, a muggleborn Gryffindor, and a muggleborn Hufflepuff, all chatting together. Harry gets off the train, followed by Devon Conway and Sean O'Brien, a muggleborn and a halfblood respectively. It's interesting that he's not friends with any purebloods, but unsurprising if all of them want to stare at his scar. It feels far more normal to have people whisper and point at me, knowing that I killed Grindelwald.

It's going to be extra galling when I chat with Skeeter.

Sally-Anne crashes into me, trying to break my ribs with a hug. I've missed this sort of thing.

"Can we go home?"

"We're going to stop at your foster parents to say goodbye, and then we'll head home, alright?"

She smiles, and nods.

I say my goodbyes to James and Lily, and when I go to shrink Sally-Anne's trunk, Tonks is already slipping it into her pocket. Just for that, I grab both of their hands and side-along them to near Sally-Anne's foster parent's house.

It's a quick and boring conversation. They're mostly concerned with how the paperwork will go through. With the method I'm using, blood adoption, it basically qualifies as an unknown relative coming forward and taking her in. I get asked a few questions about genetics, and I basically state it modifies a person on the genetic level. While she won't suddenly have the Evans eyes, she'll definitely pick up a piece of hereditary magic or two. I'll have to warn her not to chat up any snakes she sees.

Afterwards, it's to home.

My occasional visits have kept up the lawn, and with all the time I'll be spending at Hogwarts, I still can't start a garden.

"It's very you," says Sally-Anne.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"Quaint, nice-looking, and surrounded in mystery and gothic monstrosities," replies Sally-Anne, looking at the gargoyles that litter the house and property.

"I don't think I'm surrounded by gothic monstrosities," I reply.

"Psychologically," replies Tonks.

I sigh. Strange is the fact that I'm anxious about finally "going the distance" as it were. It's not annoying Tonks, but I know she's worried. And when she's worried, she pokes fun at things she shouldn't poke fun at.

Instead, I open the front door, and let Sally-Anne explore.

"Is this my room?" I hear, about ten minutes later.

We follow her upstairs, and she's standing at the door to a guest bedroom.

"Umm… actually, I was thinking that one, over there," I say, pointing down the hall. She stares at me, blinks a few times, and then investigates that one.

"OMIGOD!" she shouts.

"What?" asks Tonks, finally catching up.

"IT'S FULL OF STUFF!"

There's another breath of relief on my part.

"WOWWOWWOWTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!" she crashes into me, crushing me with another hug. I lose track of what she's actually saying at this point, but I manage to convince her to come downstairs so I can cook some dinner.

"I'm surprised to see a telly," says Tonks.

"I've only got three wards on the house," I reply. "And only two are in the house."

"What do wards do with owning a telly?" asks Sally-Anne.

"Wards interfere with electricity," I reply. "And because it's not a type of electromagnetic radiation, you can't really shield against it. I know of a few people that have been working on it, but the only thing they found was shielding everything in cast iron."

"Cast iron?" asks Sally-Anne.

"One of the least magically conductive materials found."

"So what wards are here?" asks Tonks.

"On the house is a combo apparition and portkey, along with the floo password. I've got a malevolence ward on the entire block. It's good for keeping up with the neighbourhood association."

"Neighbourhood association?" asks Tonks.

"They're a bunch of miserable old biddies who like to make everyone else as miserable as they are," says Sally-Anne. Foster parents, I'm sure, have to deal with them a lot.

"What she said," I say.

"Really? People are like that?" asks Tonks.

"Why do you think the Wizengamot exists in the first place?" I ask.

Tonks doesn't seem surprised by that explanation.

"That's a muggle thing, isn't it?"

"A really muggle thing," I reply.

Hedwig flutters in, looking at everyone in turn.

"What?" she asks.

"Neighbourhood association," I say.

"Worthless, dried up cunts, the lot of them," replies Hedwig.

"Not in front of the child," I tell her, glaring.

"Sorry Tonks," says Hedwig.

"Hay!" says Tonks. "I'll have you know I'm an adult and everything. I've got a real job, catching dark wizards and stuff."

"And stuff?" asks Sally-Anne.

"And filling out lots and lots of paperwork," grumbles Tonks.

"They never mention the paperwork," I reply.

"So what are we doing this week?" asks Sally-Anne.

"We are decompressing and lounging. Day after tomorrow will be dinner and a meeting with the Potters, Tonks parents, Black, and Minerva. Two days after that is your adoption ceremony with the Greengrasses and the Grangers, and then we're going on a goddamn vacation."

"A vacation? Where?"

"She hasn't told me," mutters Tonks.

"Don't worry, you'll like it," adds Hedwig.

"It'll be a surprise," I say. I've got a few things I plan on doing over that vacation, and it'll be nice to get out of England.

0x0x0x0

Dinner, two nights later, is… strained.

Not because people are unhappy. Instead, it's because, well… some people know things, others don't, and it's all rather obvious. The Tonks' are confused, but understanding, while Sirius is his usual dickish self. Minerva's glad to find out just what the hell is going on with my past. Sally-Anne and Harry chat like young children. Harry's too nice to really drive her off, especially since Sally-Anne is muggleborn and doesn't really care about him being the Boy-Who-Lived.

God I hope they don't get together. That'd be awkward. Especially since after the adoption, they'll be cousins… or something. Harry would count as Sally-Anne's uncle, maybe? I'm not rightly sure. It'd be weird, and probably illegal. Well, illegal in the muggle world. Not in the Wizarding World. I'm pretty sure it's legal to marry your own siblings in the Wizarding World. I've never taken the time to find out.

Hedwig is also at the table, mostly to act as moderator for James and Black, while Tonks looks on with resigned amusement. Seems they like her better than me. Minerva and Lily are off in their own little world of discussion, leaving me to Andi and Ted.

Both of whom are hinting that I should be asking them a question.

"Later on tonight," I tell them. "After the after-dinner discussion."

"So what's that all about?" asks Andi.

If I change the subject, it somehow finds itself back to a question I should be asking them, especially since I've already spoken with Sirius. Which leads back to what tonight's talk will be about.

And around and around it goes.

0x0x0x0

The kids get the short version.

Sally-Anne hugs me, and says I get a happy ending now. Harry's just thankful that he's not the Boy-Who-Lived. Once they're off to bed (Harry in the guest room) the adults get the long version.

Minerva is silent through the whole thing. I suspect she's still processing it, trying to understand just what crimes Albus committed in the name of the Greater Good. Worst of all, for her, was that it wasn't just Gellert that attacked Hogwarts. It was also Albus.

Black is hit hard, simply in how badly we've treated each other. He doesn't understand just how bad Azkaban is, but he understands being ostracized by his own family. The fact that I still call him Black, I think, is the worst part of it. Maybe he'll make headway, if I let him.

Ted and Andi are quiet. The pair of them spent most of the talk looking to Tonks, trying to gauge her reaction to all of this.

Tonks and the Potters talk with Minerva quietly, while I speak with Andi and Ted.

"Yes," says Andi.

"At least give her… him… er…" starts Ted.

"Her," I reply.

"Right, at least give her a chance to ask."

"You've asked Sirius, right?" asks Andi, entirely ignoring her husband.

"I asked him about starting negotiations for the contract itself."

"Contract?" asks Ted.

"Yes. Contract. After Kingsley became Minister, he joked that I'd have been married off to the most eligible bride if I hadn't already been dating."

Ted's left eye twitches.

"So, before I sign anything with Sirius, as your Head of Family, because we're doing this so by the book the Ministry would have to break laws in order to break laws, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage. Do I have your blessing?"

"You-Know-Who is well and truly dead?" asks Andi.

"He is. I watched his wraith give its death knell."

"And Albus as well?"

"Those were his only Horcruxes."

"Ted."

"Yes dear?"

"Say yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Dora is impersonating Minerva, dear. We say yes."

"Yes dear. Miss Evans, you have our blessing."

"Thank you." That's a relief. I give a quick smile to Tonks, who looks to be a younger, but equally stern Minerva. She changes to her usual heart-shaped face to give me a smile, and turns back to talking with Black and James. Lily and Minerva are questioning Hedwig about something else. Ted moves over to his daughter to speak with her about something.

"It's hard you on, talking about this sort thing, isn't it?" asks Andi.

"Yeah. Is it that easy to tell?"

"No, but I know Sirius doesn't talk about his childhood. James really saved Sirius from that hell. I remember all the times I visited Orion and Walburga. My own mother wasn't much better."

"The Rosiers never struck me as a happy bunch," I reply.

"Not unless a Dark Lord was cursing muggles. Walburga never cursed me, but she did curse Sirius a few times."

"You're trying to get me to make up with Black, aren't you?"

"A little bit."

I sigh.

"I don't trust easily, Andi. And as far as I'm concerned, Black stamped all over what little trust I had for him."

"Sirius is the same way, you know," replies Andi. "His pranks aren't because he's fun-loving, although that's part of it. It's a defence mechanism, for him. He pranks because his parents hated it. The people who like them, are different from his parents, thus are better people."

"He still doesn't like Lily, does he?"

"He's learned to deal with her," replies Andi. "But it didn't happen until Remus died. James and Minerva were really the ones to bring him down to earth. He is trying, though."

"I know. The Sirius I knew always had good things to say about her. He always wanted me to know good things about my parents. Granted, he mostly focused on James. He also called me James a few times."

"He called you James?"

"Only a couple times. Thirteen years in Azkaban did not do him much good."

Andi frowned.

"It's hard to separate him from the man you knew, isn't it?"

I chuckle.

"No, actually it isn't. I look at Black, and there's a happy, healthy, arrogant asshole. I remember Sirius, and there was a broken man who considered me the last link to whatever family he had left."

"And Remus?"

"Remus? Wasn't part of my life. Dumbledore told him he couldn't visit, as the Ministry considered him a danger. So he fucked off to the continent until Dumbledore somehow managed to get him to teach third year. And even after that, I rarely saw him. I had to ask him if he was friends with James and Lily, and even then he was cagey about it. Even after that he seemed to avoid me. The only time he ever approached me was after he married Tonks, trying to run away and get himself killed hunting Horcruxes rather than try to raise Teddy."

"You have a low opinion of the man."

"I have every right to have a low opinion of him. He was supposed to be my uncle, and he was just that guy who knew my parents. Sirius was the only person who ever really tried to tell me about my parents."

"No one else?"

"Nope. Minerva would give the occasional school story of James doing something idiotic when I did something equally dumb, but that was it from her. No one else really said anything about them. Well, you had a few stories about Sirius, at least."

"You trusted me a lot, didn't you?"

"That I did. Teddy was my Godson, and I made sure I acted like a Godfather to him. You actually introduced me to Narcissa."

"And you trusted her?"

"I saved her son's life. She knew I was the sort that only trusted once, and she earned it by never betraying me. And keeping Lucius on a tight leash. Draco was another matter entirely." I give a small smile, reminiscing on all the things I did to Draco after becoming friends with Narcissa. Casting the Fidelius on his house was only one of a few things I did. Corrupting Scorpius (largely by reminding him he was named "Scorpius") was also something of a hobby of mine.

I feel the silencing charm fall, and I glance at Tonks.

"You're reminiscing again," she comments, putting her wand away.

"I know. The things I did to Draco…"

"Malfoy?" asks James.

"Of course? You know any other Dracos?"

"There's a few in the family tree," comments Black. "So what did you do to him?"

"Oh, little things, here and there. After I pissed off the Goblins, they occasionally sent threatening letters for collection. I reminded them that Draco was a Black via Narcissa, and they'd have much better luck getting their collection efforts done on him."

"How much did you owe the Goblins?"

"A few million galleons, I think. I got a very angry howler from Draco. It was the only time I ever heard him curse. I wish I still had it, Scorpius got a kick out of it."

"Scorpius?" asks Minerva.

"Oh god," says Black. "Malfoy actually _spawned_?"

"With Astoria Greengrass," I reply. "Very nice girl. Arranged marriage. I think I spoke to her all of twice. Scorpius married a nice half-blood Ravenclaw girl before Draco could get something arranged."

Andi gives a very unladylike giggle at this.

"A Malfoy marrying someone with impure blood?" asks a smiling Black. "Scandalous!"

"How did you manage that?" asks Lily.

"Oh, it was actually pretty easy. I reminded him that he was named Scorpius, and asked if he was going to name his son Canis, Cancer, or Fornax."

James and Black are outright laughing at this, while Lily is shaking her head.

"Granted, this was after he started whining about the Fidelius Charm…"

"Fidelius Charm?" asks Tonks.

"Oh, right, I never mentioned this. Narcissa mentioned to me that Draco had forgotten both Narcissa and Astoria's birthdays - _again_ - and wanted a little payback. So, Narcissa asked me just what I could do about it. Well, since Draco seemed to have forgotten something very important, I decided it seemed like he's a very forgetful person. So I cast the Fidelius Charm on the manor, with Narcissa as the Secret Keeper and she shared the secret with Astoria and Scorpius. It took him two _months_ to figure out just what he'd done wrong, and another month on top of that to finally get down on his knees and beg forgiveness. It pissed him off so much that I was there with a camera. _So_ much."

0x0x0x0

By the end of the night, Black has literally cracked a rib from laughing, while Lily had to levitate James home. Apparently, James thought my telling of the story of Dobby was too much. Minerva escorted Black to Hogwarts to fix his rib, and Andi and Tonks gave me light smiles before leaving. Harry is spending the night. God alone knows why Lily and James trusts me with him.

Tonks is about to get into bed, and I know everything's squared away. Every last hurdle has been covered… except one.

And you know what? Fuck it. I need to do this.

I shove her up against the wall, and she's surprised as I force my tongue into her mouth, while my hand bunches up her skirt and reaches underneath. She sucks in a breath when I grab her, feeling her shaft through my boxers. I really need to get her her own pairs. Later, though.

Instead, my hand goes back, dipping into her. She groans, moans, makes any number of noises as my hand travels back to her shaft, stroking her.

I drag her to bed, throwing her into it, and climbing on top of her. I rip her boxers off, while she understands that I need to be in charge, at least this once.

It's been a long night, and we make it longer.

0x0x0x0

"Professor?" asks Harry in the morning, as I'm making breakfast. Sally-Anne has taken to luxuriating in her bed in the morning, while Tonks is taking a shower to get ready for her work as an Auror-Cadet.

"Out of school it's Jamie, Harry," I reply.

"Are you… my half-sister, then?"

"Yes," I reply. "Although we'll be telling everybody I'm your half-aunt."

"Isn't it weird to be a girl?"

"A little," I say, shrugging. "My life sucked. I could either adapt to it, or let it drag me under. I let it drag me under a few times, and it sucked more. So I stopped letting it."

"Is it really that simple?"

"People like to claim it is, but they're all full of shit." Harry seems surprised I'm cursing. Then again, I try to be a professional.

"No cursing in front of the children!" shouts Tonks, coming down the stairs.

"I'm explaining important guy stuff," I reply. "It takes real effort to be that impartial, and I can only pull it off thanks to my Occlumency and surrounding myself with good people."

"I don't think you started out with that many," comments Tonks.

"What about Hedwig?" asks Harry.

Which reminds me. Where is she? She disappeared after last night. I feel out the connection, and realise that I really don't want to know where she is right now. At all. The fact that she's getting action at the moment, makes me wonder if I should be disturbed, or amused. Instead, I file it away for later, and turn back to the conversation.

"She definitely helped. Tonks, I guess, helped as well."

"You guess?" asks Tonks.

"I _guess_."

Harry's amused by our sarcastic antics, and breakfast continues unabated. I'll interrogate Hedwig later, though.

0x0x0x0

The interview with Skeeter goes pretty well. It's being held in Minerva's office, and with Minerva's Pensieve. I retrieve from Dumbledore's cabinet the memory of the prophecy, and pour it into the bowl.

I decide to also kill two birds with one stone, and have Tonks there, as well, along with James and Lily. I signed the paperwork with Sirius earlier in the day. Rita knows questions about Harry and Hedwig are off limits. Tonks spends most of the interview behind me, keeping me sane. I've made no mention of her, but we'll see how together Rita is at the end of this.

My story is pretty disturbing, but based in reality. I did run across this researcher, and I did kill him. I did it twenty years from now, though.

Still, I pose it hypothetically. I act like I'm not sure of the story myself, but it's the best I can put together.

Miskatonic University condones research that most wouldn't. So, for example, if a wizard wanted to determine if mothers of muggleborns were more or less likely to produce wizards, then they'd fund it. And if the researcher wanted to use himself as a control, well, that's his prerogative. It's not like he's going to be publishing research papers. He just has to make sure the whelps can't claim inheritance by disowning them.

As near as I could explain, he spent a week in the UK bespelling Lily's father, and forcing Lily's mother through a potion-sped, week-long pregnancy, and then took me back to the States.

Miskatonic University, however, has a policy that if you can kill enough teachers, you probably deserve to graduate. Entirely true. My spree was a record-breaking seventeen before the Dean stepped in.

Rita Skeeter nods in understanding, then asks me a question.

"So, Grindelwald wasn't your first Dark Lord?"

"Dark Lord? Yes, he was. Not all evil bastards want to rule the world. Some just want to do things that others would frown on. Or want to lock them up, and throw away the key."

Then we get to the Potters.

I looked into my family. By this point, Lily had married James, and they were in hiding with Harry. But I found Petunia Dursley nee Evans. Living with Petunia, I found a girl named Jessica Potter.

I hand the story off to James, Lily, and Sirius for the truth.

And they tell how Albus Dumbledore bespelled them into giving up their own daughter, convincing them that they needed to focus on protecting Harry. Jessica was left to Petunia and Vernon under blood wards, designed to keep away anyone who attempted to harm her.

And then we get to why.

The prophecy.

I only give her the sound of it, Trelawney's echoing voice talking of a hero born as the seventh month dies.

"Harry was born on August 2nd," says James. "Jessica was born July 31st."

Rita is utterly silent at this revelation.

"Dumbledore always told us he didn't believe You-Know-Who was truly dead. He never really explained why," adds James

"Our best guess," I say, "is that he was convinced Voldemort undertook some method of immortality."

"Some method?" asks Rita.

"Some method," I reply. "There's a number of different ways of binding the human soul to the mortal coil. None of them are pleasant, and all of them lead to loss of magic, sanity, humanity, or all of the above."

"Then You-Know-Who's appearance..." Rita trails off, not wishing to describe it.

"Was likely another piece of evidence for Dumbledore," I reply. He looked just as inhuman before his demise as after his resurrection.

"Then why did he separate Jessica from you, if he believed she would once more defeat the Dark Lord?"

Lily answers through her tears.

"It's in the prophecy," she says. "_Neither can live while the other survives_. If she lived with us, she would have lived. She would have been loved. Instead, she had to be with Petunia and Vernon. Petunia always hated me for having magic, and... well..."

James retrieves a muggle newspaper, the Surrey Advisor, and places it on the desk.

_ Couple on Trial for Murder of Niece_.

Vernon and Petunia's faces are splashed across the page. Beneath the fold is a picture of the cupboard under the stairs, blood stains on the walls. The article's fantastic, and I had nothing to do with it. It's even better since one of the policemen actually spoke with the media, and provided Vernon's wonderful quote.

Rita skims the article.

"There's more, isn't there?" she asks.

"I don't think you read Vernon's quote," I reply, pointing it out to her.

Rita reads it, and then looks like she wants to sick up. McGonagall conjures a pail for her, just in case.

"How did you..." she begins.

"Find out about it?" I ask. "Simple. I took her from that house. She was already dying, and I did what I could to help her. Her magic didn't even try to save her. She actually wanted to die. She didn't want to survive anymore."

"And you'll let the muggles take the fall?"

"Why not?" I ask. "They did it to her. They deserve it. They committed a crime, and they will pay for it."

"And the muggle justice system will make them pay?" asks Rita. "Reading this article, they're attempting to break the Statue of Secrecy."

"And do you want to know what the muggles think of that?" I ask, and then point to further on in the article. "Here. The police think they aren't fit to stand trial. The muggles think them mad, and will send them to a sanatorium for the rest of their natural lives." I give a small, happy smile. "They may, perhaps, be sent to the Whateley Sanatorium for the Criminally Insane."

"Whateley?" asks Rita.

"Yes. _Whateley_," growls James.

Rita looks just a little more green. It's a delightful sight to behold. She manages to keep on track.

"I presume you're aware of the Whateleys, just as you are of the Marshes?" she asks me.

"Oh, of course. I've never met a Whateley that wasn't a piece of scum, though."

The conversation meanders through the Whateleys, until she finally reaches the other side. She hasn't made use of the bucket, yet. Most unfortunate.

"You truly believe Dumbledore did this?" asks Rita.

"Albus Dumbledore stood for one thing," I tell Rita. "The Greater Good. No matter what that Greater Good entailed, he was willing to do it. Ask the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and how they weren't allowed to use lethal force against Death Eaters."

"It's true," says James. "We weren't allowed to use lethal force at Dumbledore's request. He'd always stated we couldn't sink to their level."

"But… they're Death Eaters," says Rita, dumbfounded.

"Yes, I know," replies James. "This is the man who locked Gellert Grindelwald in prison."

"There are rumours about why he did that," comments Rita.

"Which ones? They might be based on solid fact," Lily chimes in. "Bathilda Bagshot has some interesting stories about Dumbledore and her nephew Gellert. And also some letters, as well."

Rita begins to salivate, as Lily talks about some of the letters the old woman saved about her nephew.

She never does get to why Tonks is with me. Oh, well. Can't win everything.

0x0x0x0

Hedwig has been spending time in France.

Veelas and Harpies get along _far_ too well. Something about both being avian.

That is all I'm saying on the matter.

0x0x0x0

The Greengrasses are a nice bunch, which makes me wonder even more why Astoria married Draco. I think Lucius mostly wanted to find a nice young lady who wasn't very related to Draco, and that was the only respectable choice.

Or maybe it was because they said "Yes." No idea, really.

Sally-Anne is wearing the robes Daphne gave her, and Astoria is happy to meet Daphne's friends. Harry's here as well, but isn't hiding. Instead, he's chatting with Hermione about how unfair Snape is when it comes to grading Gryffindors. Harry's fairly studious, thanks to Lily. She wants him to keep his grades up, unlike James. He actually went to muggle school for his first five years, rather than be home schooled. Mostly so he could be socially adjusted, rather than completely bugshit insane. Sure, he had to keep quiet about his magic, but that's not actually all that difficult.

Hermione and her parents are also here. I'm a little standoffish with them, even if I try not to be. They weren't entirely happy with Hermione after being memory charmed and sent to Australia. Ron didn't help, either. Nor did her murder. They blamed me. Still, Hermione introduces me as "the professor whose going to help me take my GCSEs."

I'd actually entertained the notion of going back to the muggle world on and off again during my less-than-sober years. I failed the GCSE three times before I stopped trying while under the influence. After I sobered up, I even ran a few missions in the muggle world. I learned a very important lesson: Japan is _weird_.

Paulina and Leon Granger both take an immediate liking to me. They worry I'm a little young, but they also know I'm helping their daughter to be a socially adjusted human being.

Minerva and Pomona are here, as well. Pomona, naturally, has come baring gifts. Pomona actually broke down and cried after Sally-Anne passed her classes. She hadn't expected it, not at all.

Enough babbling.

The ritual's pretty quick. A little bleeding into a silver chalice filled with wine on both of our parts, and we both drink. Which isn't how it's supposed to go, but it seems better that way. Only she's supposed to drink. I don't care, though.

Sally-Anne is a mousy, brown-haired girl with light brown eyes. After drinking, she stays mousy, but her hair actually lightens to in-between the original brown and Evans red. Her face changes a little bit, picking up a little more definition to her cheekbones and chin. Her eyes stay the same, though.

"Umm…" begins Lily.

"Yes?" I ask.

She conjures a mirror.

I appear to have also picked up the Evans flaming red hair. I also have a new nose, and have lost a little bit of the high cheekbones James has. Huh.

Duh. I performed a blood ritual to change my appearance, and the Potter blood isn't in there anymore. Of course.

I still think the nose is the weird part, honestly. I think there's an obvious answer to this, however.

"Tonks?"

"Yes?"

"Make a trip to the store, and get me some black hair dye."

"Why?" she asks, already playing with my hair. I suppose it's not often she sees someone else's hair change colour. The kids are off in the corner, playing with Sally-Anne's hair.

"Because I want it to look like a natural hair colour change?" I say.

"Eh?"

"You want to grow out red hair," says Lily. "As though it was always your natural hair colour, and you've always been dying it."

"Bingo."

"But why use muggle hair dye?" asks James.

"It can't be detected by magic," replies Lily.

"And that means it couldn't have been undone by magic by accident," replies James. "And it'll make it look more like you're Lily's half-sister."

The plan is in place.

"Professor?" asks Daphne.

"Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"Sally-Anne wants to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Can I… can I be Sally-Anne Evans?"

"Yes, yes you most certainly can, Sally-Anne Evans," I reply. "Minerva you have the paperwork?"

After a stone of paperwork, Sally-Anne's new name is Sally-Anne Perks Evans, and she's listed as my blood-adopted daughter, and Heir to the House of Evans.

There's a party, a dinner, and now?

A goddamn vacation.

0x0x0x0

"Where the hell did we just apparate?" asks a rather woozy Tonks. Sally-Anne looks like she's been dragged through the wringer as well, but we've arrived exactly where I wanted us to arrive.

"You'll figure it out," I say. I lead my airsick compatriots through Logan International Airport, over to a desk with an ugly yellow sign behind it. After a fifteen minute conversation, I wandlessly confound the man into thinking my ID says I'm twenty-five, and then we drive off the lot with a nice rented car. Then, I remember why I always went through the trouble of taking a flight to Manchester.

I fucking hate Boston traffic.

The road that I have made the mistake of driving on to, I93, is no longer a nice, neat underground tunnel. Instead, it is an elevated morass, an uplifted alter upon which the sanity of motorists are sacrificed to some torturous and insane god. Voldemort could not devise a crueller method to torture muggles than Boston's Central Artery.

I am trapped upon it, in a steel box. My fellow animals, trapped within the similar cages, have begun to circle, recognizing weakness.

"So… we're in America," says Tonks. "Trans-Atlantic apparition, eh?"

"That's supposed to be difficult, isn't it?" asks Sally-Anne.

"Yes. One would think we would be apparated into someplace that isn't a traffic congested nightmare that makes the M25 look like a proper throughway."

"I'm used to this road being a tunnel, alright?" I reply, my teeth possibly grating. I can't really tell, at this point.

"A tunnel?" asks Tonks.

"Yes. A tunnel. They're probably breaking ground on it _right now_. It will be the most over-budget Public Works Project in the History of the Human Race."

"That's a pretty big claim," says Tonks.

"It started as two billion American Dollars, and cost around fourteen. Granted, I'm probably not counting inflation, but that's beside the point."

"What's inflation?" asks Sally-Anne. "Some of my old foster parents used to whine about it all the time, but I never understood their explanations of it."

"With chocolate frog cards, you know how everybody has Merlin, so he's not really worth anything?"

"Yeah."

"But everybody who collects chocolate frog cards will trade their left arm for Agrippa, because there's so few of them?"

"Yeah."

"Money's the same way. The more of it there is, the less it's worth, and governments are always printing more."

"Oh. So why are we sitting in traffic, rather than being where we're supposed to be?"

"Because I completely forgot how much of a fucking shithole Boston Traffic is. Alright. Now, if you excuse me, I must participate in this morass." I roll down my window, stick my head out, cast a silencing charm on Sally-Anne, and scream obscenities at the saggy, brain dead cunt that just skipped across four lanes of traffic to cut me off.

This is Boston. It's business as usual.

0x0x0x0

We eventually escape the City of Boston with most of our sanity intact, and are even headed in the correct direction. Namely, North.

I avoid Arkham like the plague upon existence it is. I should probably have a chat with The Dean, but that's for later. I'll apparate there when I have a little free time.

Instead, we arrive at a house, right on the ocean. As in, walk out the back door, and there's the beach. The smell of ocean air is all pervading, and wonderful. The house is built to not understand the concept of air conditioning, with good airflow through the entire house.

There are a couple of minor annoyances than I quickly fix, whether by muggle or magical means. There's also a short shopping trip to pick up everything necessary for grilling and smores. I'm disturbed when both Sally-Anne and Tonks ask me what smores are.

"Tonks, I can understand you not know what smores are… but et tu, Sally-Anne?"

"I don't!" she says.

I shake my head in mock disgust, before pushing the cart onwards. The enchantments on her leg are preventing any muggles from seeing it, but she's still self-conscious enough to be wearing a long skirt and shoes. We'll see how that changes when she goes swimming tomorrow.

I don't feel like cooking dinner, so we cross over the border into New Hampshire, skip past the alcohol and fireworks store, and instead get Proper New England Food.

"Three Lahbstah Rahlls, fries, and diet cokes," I tell the person behind the counter. Like hell I'm going to give any of us caffeine. We need sleep.

"What did you just ask her for?" asks Tonks, entirely uncertain of whether or not all of that was in English.

"Food," I tell them. "Good food. Filled with butter and tastiness, just like Hogwarts fair. But _better_."

Tonks considers me carefully, while Sally-Anne pokes the gigantic tank of lobsters in the waiting area, alongside several other children around her age. They're all surprised that she's British. Both of them occasionally eye me with varied levels of uncertainty, at least until they get their lobster rolls. Then there's just _deliciousness._

"So what did we just eat?" asks Sally-Anne.

"You know those things in the tank?" I ask.

"You're kidding me," says Sally-Anne. "No way can something that gross be that tasty."

"Wait until you eat one boiled. That's lots of fun. You have to break apart the shell to get the meat inside. They give you a _nut cracker_."

Sally-Anne looks a mixture of disbelieving, disgusted, and excited, while Tonks just looks like she wants to puke. I cackle with sadistic glee.

Sally-Anne crashes once we get back to the house, and I manage to drag Tonks to bed by nine. There will be several big days coming up, so we actually sleep.

0x0x0x0

It's the North Atlantic, so warming charms are necessary. Sally-Anne's still a little skittish about learning to swim, so I have to drag her into the water and teach her.

"Don't worry, I didn't learn until I was nineteen," I tell her.

"Nineteen?" she asks. "But what about the lake?"

"Gillyweed makes it pretty easy," I say. "Sadly, only freshwater gillyweed exists. Neville was trying to breed a saltwater variety, but he never made it that far. I actually learned at the pond behind the Burrow, when Ginny threw me in. I nearly drowned before she realised I didn't know how to swim."

"She nearly killed you?" asks Sally-Anne, another wave nearly knocking her over.

"Yep. That's why we're only a few feet out. Now, if you want someone your own age, I'll point at Neville again."

"Neville? Really?"

"Yep. His Uncle Algie used to test him for accidental magic. You know, scare him, surprise him, demand him to do things, that sort of thing. For the longest time, they thought he was a squib. When he turned ten, Algie really stepped it up, according to Neville. Threw him off the pier into the pond behind their house."

"What!"

"Uh-huh. They finally found out he was magical when Algie dangled him out a window, and then accidentally dropped him. Neville bounced a few times."

"Dropped him. Out a window. Accidentally," says Sally-Anne.

"Oh, yes. Very accidental. It's the reason Neville has Trevor."

"Trevor."

"His toad."

Sally-Anne is in shock. The number of horror stories I have about her classmates could fill a few books. If some of it winds up as blackmail material, all the better.

"His great uncle nearly kills him, and as an apology, buys him a toad?"

"Yep. Welcome to pureblood families. Better dead than a squib."

"Didn't his parents do anything about it?"

"His parents are in the long-term spell damage ward at St. Mungos." She winces at that, while I tap my fingers against my chin for a few seconds. "Which reminds me, I need to deal with something once we get back."

"What?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," I tell her. "Now, more importantly, how have you been getting along with Tonks?"

"Good subject change," she says to me. I've taught her well.

"No, it was a terrible one. I'm serious though, how are you two getting along?"

"Good! It's just…"

"What?"

"She's a bit childish at times," says Sally-Anne, a little bashful. Oh, I'm definitely telling Tonks this.

"She didn't have much chance to be a kid," I tell her. "She's a metamorph. Everybody looked at her, and saw her for who she could be, rather than who she was. 'Look like this person, look like that person.' So she had to grow up quick. Sirius and James tried to help her be a kid, but she's only really started being able to be one now."

"Oh."

"Kind of like me, I guess. I'm young, I get a chance to be young again. I figure I can milk it for all it's worth." I'm quiet for a moment. "By the way?"

"Yeah?"

"You should be proud you never asked her to change her shape."

Sally-Anne gives me this glowing smile.

0x0x0x0

That afternoon, Sally-Anne is out digging in the sand, when she's joined by a little black-haired girl about her own age. Sally-Anne eyes her carefully, especially her heart-shaped face, before allowing her to help build her sand-castle. Together, they get a fair amount done, and even manage to get a moat going for when the tide comes back in. The other girl stays for dinner, where I grill up some hot dogs, and they eat them with nothing but ketchup (I have to explain that it's the same damn thing as catsup, though). I have mustard and relish, but the pair of them are in a ketchup phase. I make no comments on the matter.

The little girl heads back into the house, while I stay and clean some of the grease off the grill.

"That was a very nice thing you did," I say.

"You set this up, didn't you?" she says, smiling.

"Not really. It was mostly Tonks' idea, once I told her. I think it's a Black family trait. Tell them to do something, and they'll do it even more."

She shakes her head.

"She likes being a kid," I say. "She likes being able to joke and laugh, she likes being whoever she wants to be, rather than whoever everybody else wants her to be."

"Like you and Harry both had to be the Boy-Who-Lived?"

I nod, still scraping the grill. I could have scourgified the grill, but then the food wouldn't taste as good. And now my own brain is trying to change the subject.

"And she did have fun," I add.

"I did too," says Sally-Anne.

"Maybe you should tell Tonks, that."

And with that, Sally-Anne runs inside.

0x0x0x0

I learned from the Veela that the best way for lovers to view the sunrise, is to never fall asleep in the first place. They also told me that sex on the beach isn't all that it's cracked up to be, but that it's still something that should be experienced.

A warming ward and a notice-me-not charm, and we're both very naked, watching the sunrise on a conjured blanket. A quick bit of magic on my part, and the sand in places I'd rather it not be isn't there anymore. We're both pleasantly sore, although neither of us are as tired as we'd like to admit.

She's holding me again, my head resting on her breast. She has one hand over my breast, while I occasionally tickle between her thighs. She isn't hard anymore, and hasn't been for a while. Well, not fully hard. Even metamorphs have their limit. Both of us are sore, but happy as the sun begins to creep over the horizon.

"There an exhibitionism fetish I should be worried about?" asks Tonks.

"No, but there is a love of the great outdoors," I reply. "I've got a rather important question for you."

"And what's that?"

A box silently slides into my hand from the railing of the balcony. Let it never be said I'm not prepared. I shift, pulling myself up onto one knee, the other beneath me.

"I know I'm supposed to go down on one knee, rather than up to one, but I think I'm already breaking a fair amount of tradition. I also think you're supposed to be doing this, rather than me. But you know what? Fuck all that. Nymphadora Tonks, will you marry me?"

I open the box. Inside is, of course, a ring. Solid platinum band, with a five diamond set. They add up to a carat and a half. For rocks, they aren't spectacular, but Tonks isn't one for ostentatiousness. Instead, the beauty is in the band.

The ring is enchanted as living metal. It constantly shifts and changes. At the moment, it's an interweaving Celtic band that flows around and between the stones themselves.

"On one condition," she says.

"Yes?"

"Don't ever say my first name again," says Tonks, smiling.

"I shall endeavour to try," I reply, slipping the ring on her finger.

We're sore, but not sore enough to not go another round.

0x0x0x0

Sally-Anne grumbles about the ring. Honestly, I don't think she wants to share me with anyone, now that I'm "actually hers". We sit in the kitchen, while Tonks takes a bit of time to sun on the balcony.

"You know she wants to be there for you, too, right?"

She's quiet for a little bit.

"Marriage in the Wizarding World isn't like the muggle world. 'From Now Unto The End' has a very literal meaning in the ceremony. Once we're together, we're together. And that means I'll be there for you, and Tonks will be there for you, no matter what."

"But what about me?" she asks.

I pick her up from her seat, and bring her into my lap. She's surprised, maybe at the fact that I can pick her up so easily. I hold her close, comforting her.

"Sally-Anne… you're my daughter, now. Nothing's ever going to change that. And with being my daughter, means you get a fair bit of extended family, too."

"The Potters and the Tonkses?" she asks.

"And Black."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"He's very different from the man I knew," I replied. "A lot less childish, a lot more arrogant, a lot less insane."

"You liked him insane?" asks Sally-Anne.

"It was a nice sort of crazy. He didn't treat me like a kid, but he did treat me like I was his responsibility."

Sally-Anne nods, understanding some of it.

"He wasn't really that responsible, but we picked up a good understanding of each other. Our relatives were hateful monsters, and we wanted out as soon as we could. Why, do you like him?"

"He's okay," says Sally-Anne.

"Do I detect a hint of a crush?" I ask, and watch her turn red. "That roguish exterior, the practical jokes, the devil-may-care attitude?"

"It's not funny!" says Sally-Anne.

"I swear upon my honour, that Sirius Black shall hear none of your crush from me. I will, however, say this! He is a little old for you."

"I know that," says Sally-Anne, as red as a tomato.

"Good. Now, speaking of emotional turmoil, it's time we have an unfortunate talk."

"But… you were born a _boy_."

"Yes, but I ransacked Bellatrix LeStrange's head for all those important spells about dealing with feminine problems, and I've had a year of dealing with them myself. That, and she also knew some really good spells for doing up her hair."

"Really?"

"Spells so good, that Hermione could use them."

Sally-Anne's eyes go _wide_ at that statement.

0x0x0x0

The Patronus to Sirius is important. This way, he pays the dowry. Or I can pay the dowry. I'm not rightly sure. Either way, we'll have a nice pretty receipt for it. Correctly dated is _always_ necessary.

0x0x0x0

DO YOU HAVE _ANY_ IDEA HOW BORING FACULTY MEETINGS ARE, IF YOU'VE ALREADY SAT THROUGH THEM?

"Some idea, yes."

NO, YOU REALLY DON'T. FACULTY MEETINGS HERE ALREADY ARE THE MOST BORING THINGS IN EXISTENCE. I ALREADY HAVE TO LISTEN TO REPETITIOUS VILLAINOUS MONOLOGUES EVERY STAFF MEETING, NOW I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE _EXACT SAME_ REPETITIOUS VILLAINOUS MONOLOGUES EVERY STAFF MEETING.

"I'm a teacher too, you know."

I DON'T CARE.

"I have to listen to Severus Snape and Sirius Black rehash the exact same arguments they've been having since they were thirteen. I think I have some idea."

The Dean of Miskatonic University isn't human. I also have made no attempt whatsoever to learn any form of the thing's name. It's roughly humanoid, and wears an Armani suit. It's faceless, and its skin is black. Not brown, dark brown, chocolate, mahogany, or charcoal. _Black_. I'm fairly certain that if I turned off the light, I could see it quite clearly, because even in the absence of light, the Dean's skin is darker than that.

It groans in misery.

"I suppose I could change around the meetings by killing a few people. Most of them would even deserve it."

NO, YOU CAN'T JUST GO AROUND KILLING MY STAFF. I CLEANED HOUSE JUST AFTER YOUR TATTOO RETURNED, AND THEN BACKDATED ALL THE PAPERWORK TO TWO YEARS AGO SO YOUR STORY WOULD CHECK OUT. IT DIDN'T CHANGE A DAMN THING.

The Dean likes me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, though. I think it's mostly because I killed the more annoying members of the staff. I suppose I also gave him an excuse to kill the annoying members of his own staff.

"Glad to know my story will still check out," I reply.

The Dean waves me off, too disgruntled to make a comment, and I know it's time to leave. Honestly, it isn't that frightening. It's secretary, however...

She was a tall, leggy blonde named Amber when I walked into the Dean's office, dressed in clothes so skimpy she wouldn't be out of place on a beach. Now, she's an ancient crone named Beatrice, dressed in a very conservative blouse and skirt.

"Have a nice day, Miss Evans," she calls out to me, as I leave.

I turn back, and a middle-aged butch in a men's suit is smiling at me. Her nameplate says "Bob." I have long ago stopped asking her questions.

"You too," I say, and walk away as quickly as politeness allows.

0x0x0x0

This time, I remember to take the flight from Manchester to Logan, before the Trans-Atlantic apparition. Manchester-Boston Regional is much easier to get to than Logan. Apparition dumps me in Heathrow, to which we quickly escape via floo.

It's a day or two of rest, before the first letter from the Wizengamot arrives. I'm required to be present for a meeting in four days.

The morning of, I feel a portkey slam out of the (unfortunately, lightly applied) portkey wards on the house. Which is impressive, because I didn't detect a portkey coming in. I dash downstairs, even as Tonks calls for me. A parchment envelope, marked with blood.

Ah. Blood magic. A quick examination of the contents reveals a handwritten note.

I grab Tonks, rip down the wards, and apparate.

I send a messenger Patronus to Kingsley and Moody.

"Are you alright?" asks Tonks, staring at the wrought iron gates set between two stone pillars.

Yaxley Manor. Interesting. Especially since it's the Jugsons that are trying to hammer through the bill in the Wizengamot. I suppose they think I'll go after the Jugsons, and they'll have time with my daughter.

Time to remind them I killed Grindelwald in an outright duel.

I focus, and start chanting in Ancient Hebrew while Tonks watches, her wand out. Alastor and Kingsley arrive mid-chant, and Tonks gives them the heads up. They are here to watch. I'm here to bring the wrath of an angry god. Alastor's annoyed, pissing and moaning about not doing anything, until I finish.

It starts with the wind picking up, and the stench of rotten eggs. Tonks gags, while Kingsley raises an eyebrow. Alastor falls silent, a gleeful smile crossing the slab of shredded meat called his face, as the sky opens up.

Streaks of molten rock rain from the sky, shattering and exploding on the Yaxley family wards. They last two minutes to my onslaught. The instant they fall, I replace them with a heavy-duty combination apparition, floo, portkey, and broom ward.

There will be no escape.

I start the long walk up the drive, while Kingsley, Alastor, and Tonks follow. I start to feel people attempt to apparate. They'll likely try to die screaming, but given that the ward removes most of their internal organs, they'll fail. The screaming part, that is.

A broom screams into the air, and then explodes. There's very little chance the rider survived the explosion, let alone the subsequent fall.

I don't care.

They have dared to harm my family. There will be _no survivors._

Fifteen people break out the front door, wands aloft, and Killing Curses on their lips. A wave of the Elder Wand turns all but one to salt. He screams as I banish his wand arm and summon the rest of him.

"Where is my daughter?" I ask, as he attempts to bleed out before I get my answer.

"This is probably illegal," comments Kingsley.

"You tell her that," says Moody, nonplussed.

The idiot doesn't answer me, but tearing off his arm has broken whatever Occlumency barriers he has.

Basement. Dungeon. And some idiot's been selected to rape her.

A wave of my hand snaps his neck, and the Elder Wand points at the house. There's creaking, groaning, then the snapping of timber and shattering of stone as I lift the manor off its foundation. It's heavy, but I'm pissed off enough that _I don't care._

I hear Kingsley curse as I shift the manor to the side, and let it crash. Half a millennia of history, tossed aside, because it was in my way. We move onwards, and find the stairs down.

I have a much better fix on where Sally-Anne is, now that she's nearby. I send a tongue of Fiendfyre down a side-passage, and ignore the screams from it. Someone jumps out of a side-alcove, and manages "AVA-" before I use him as a battering ram for a door I wanted to walk through. He tears the door off its hinges, and makes it a good fifty feet down the hall before they come to a full and complete stop. Someone else steps into view, and my paint stripping charm turns him into a skeleton and red mist.

I rip a door off its hinges, and sitting in the corner of the cell is Sally-Anne. Her clothes are torn, and she's surrounded in blood, entrails, viscera, and bone chips, but she's otherwise untouched. The runes on her leg glow, while the black material drinks in light.

I vanish everything and immediately grab her, picking her up.

"I'm here, I'm here," I whisper to her. "They're all gone. They can't hurt you."

And that's when she starts to cry. I let her, as I carry her out.

"Tonks?" I ask.

"Yeah?"

"Torch it."

Tonks nods. I realise her hair is black, and her face has the high cheekbones and pointed chin of the Black family. Her natural form. She raises her wand, and the flames leap onto the wreckage, and begin to play along the dungeon. The fire I left in the side passage crawls out of dungeon, and demons and chimeras and dragons frolic and play, immolating all of the ruins, all of the history and majesty of this shit hole, and turning it into the ugly pit it should be.

We apparate to the Ministry.

0x0x0x0

I smash the chamber doors off their hinges. Before anyone can say anything, I raise my hand, and close it.

The chamber falls to silence.

The intelligent ones become very, _very_ worried. Augustus Yaxley and Damien Jugson are sitting next to each other, rather quiet, and somewhat amused. I suspect they think I'm going to act like Dumbledore.

"Earlier today, my daughter was kidnapped," I begin. "She was portkeyed from my home. And note was left, that read 'Don't argue with the Wizengamot if you want your daughter back.'" I'm even kind enough to hold the note aloft, before placing it on a conjured table. "It was contained in a parchment envelope, protecting its contents by blood magic." I hold aloft the envelope as well, and place it on the table.

"I rescued my daughter from the home of Augustus Yaxley before she could be raped and murdered."

Stepping into the room are Tonks and Sally-Anne, who stand by the broken doors. Sally-Anne is still shaken, and is clinging to Tonks. Sirius Black and, surprisingly enough, the Malfoys both look as pissed off as I feel. I suppose it's something of family solidarity. Either that, or Lucius actually understands the ramifications of what the Wizengamot is attempting to do.

"I submit as witnesses, Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody."

Moody and Shacklebolt enter. Moody's agreed to this because he hates Death Eaters. Shacklebolt's agreed because his wife murdered her children, and was then raped to death by Death Eaters while under the Imperius. Julius Yaxley, Augustus Yaxley's son, was one of the suspects... until he declared himself to have been under the Imperious.

"This envelope was protected with Blood Magic." I tap my wand to it, and cast the same blood boiling curse that broke Albus' instruments, and pour power into it. The parchment catches fire.

Augustus Yaxley breaks the silencing charm with the strength of his scream. He dies within seconds, his brain cooked within his skull.

"The House of Yaxley kidnapped my daughter. The House of Yaxley is _no more_. Its members dead or scattered to the winds, its Head lies dead, a kidnapper, a rapist, and a murder, and its Manor lies in ruin."

I look to Damien Jugson. He's absolutely terrified.

"I bid this august body good day. I must see after my daughter. It should I hope I need not return."

With that, I pick up Sally-Anne, and leave.

0x0x0x0

The Wizengamot took disposition from Shacklebolt and Moody, and given my status as a Warlock, decided to await the results of the Jugson-Evans Marriage Contract that Damien Jugson had proposed to be enforced.

The wording required the Evans family to be dissolved into the Jugson family, and me to be married to Ashleigh Jugson, his second or third son.

Damien couldn't pull the contract, as it was suddenly tied to a case before the Wizengamot, and he was now well aware that if it succeeded, I'd kill him, and everyone else in England with his last name.

Thankfully (for him, at least), Lucius pulled his fat from the fire.

He delivered a rather eloquent speech on the consequences of the Wizengamot's decision. Namely, that it would set a pair of rather dangerous precedents. And law is all about precedent. If it has been done before, it can be done again, after all.

First, that it would give the Wizengamot the power to arrange marriages. While _this_ marriage was marrying a muggleborn to a pureblood, what was to stop the Wizengamot from marrying a pureblood to a muggleborn? What right did the government have, in creating and enforcing the marriages between free people? Would a Department of Magical Marriages be formed, so that the Ministry could dictate who married who, make it seem "business as usual." The blatant threat of the usual corruption and bribery involved in marriages, according to Sirius, made everyone in the hall shuffle uncomfortably.

Second, and more damning, was a betrothal contract between magical houses was considered sacrosanct. And there was a betrothal contract between the House of Black and the House of Evans. And that contract would determine the line of succession. Would the Wizengamot be allowed to interfere with that, as well? What about Marriage Contracts themselves? Would the Department of Magical Marriages be allowed to sever the bonds of marriage? What about the old, traditional houses, such as Lucius' own, that took the vows seriously, that bonded the magic? Would the Department break those marriages, make them squibs for the sake of "business as usual?"

There were counter arguments, and Sirius had to bring forth the contract, the receipt on the dowry, and proof that Tonks was a metamorphmagus (and therefore not female), while Lily had to bring forth documentation stating the founding of the House of Evans, before the Wizengamot realised that Lucius was actually working for the betterment of Wizarding Society (for once) and not to line his own damn pockets.

All of this, we didn't learn until well after the fact. Instead, we spent the next three weeks in Southern France, teaching Sally-Anne various methods for detecting magic, spells she could use both with a wand and some even without, and just talking.

And that's what she needed most, to talk. Sometimes it was with me. Sometimes it was with Tonks. Sometimes it was with Hedwig.

One of us would always be there for her, whether she was suddenly dragged back to that cell under the manor, or if she was trapped in a nightmare, or even if she wanted a hug and a reminder she was loved. I taught her the rudiments of Occlumency, so she could understand how her mind worked, and how the trauma took hold of it, and how she could recognize it, and master its hold over her.

"Why did you do that?"

"What?"

"Kill them all?" she asked.

"There are two things I hate; people manipulating me, and people hurting my family. I killed Albus for doing both, I killed Voldemort for doing both, I killed Augustus for doing both, and I'll kill anyone else for doing both."

"You aren't a very nice person, are you?"

"I like to think I try to be a nice person. I just know I'm not a _good_ person."

At this, Sally-Anne nods.

"Sally-Anne… I do things like that, so that other people don't get hurt. I used to do it a lot. Hell, I'll probably have to do it in the future. One thing I want you to know, though, is that you don't have to follow my footsteps. You should be who you want to be, and who you need to be. That was something that took me a very long time to learn."

At this, she nods.

Morality for twelve year olds isn't complicated.

And when she saw Hermione and Daphne at the end of it, maybe she was a little quieter, a little more reserved, but she didn't need to fake a smile, she didn't need to hide behind any masks or walls.

Which is when Tonks and I finally have time for a chat.

"Moody and Shacklebolt were written up and put on two weeks probation for failing to stop you," she begins, while we watch the kids in my backyard. The Grangers and the Greengrasses are having stilted conversation elsewhere on the deck.

"And you?" I ask.

"It's a bit more complicated. I'm not an Auror, so I can't be on active duty. Bones wants it written off as an internal Black Family matter, since you're my betrothed, while Scrimgouer wants me fired, since Moody and Shacklebolt were both written up. It's going before a board of inquiry. Given that I made no attempt to stop you, and that I should have been the one to call for backup, he's probably going to win."

"You could probably go the Dumbledore Route, and give the whole 'What's Right or What's Easy' speech."

"I don't think I can pull off sanctimonious asshole that well."

"I can coach you. I've seen it a lot."

She smirks.

"I guessed. It's just… I always figured I'd be a better person than that."

"Oh?"

"A better person than just stepping aside and letting you kill them all."

"Ah," I say.

"Not that you aren't a good person," she says, quickly realising what she's just suggested.

I give her an amused smile.

"Tonks, I know I'm not a good person. I try to be nice, I try to be kind, but when push comes to shove, I'm not a good person."

She's silent.

"This sort of thing makes you question what sort of person you are, and what sort of person you want to be. A question for you."

"Yes?"

"Killing should always be a last resort, yes?"

"Yes."

"What other resort did I have?"

"You could have left survivors," she says.

"I could have, but it would have taken time. Time was something we didn't have. That, and what spell did every single person we encountered try to cast at us?"

On this, Tonks falls silent.

"I know I'm using a loaded argument, and I know I could have been nicer to those people, but… I know that those people treat human lives like so much garbage. Do I have a broken sense of morality, because it's so easy for me to kill? Probably. But I always think of all the people that'll never be harmed by them, now that they're dead. Really, it's a potential for harm, but in my heart, I really don't care. They were protecting rapists and murderers. "

"James Potter gave the cadets the same speech at the Academy," says Tonks, eventually. "The part about the potential for harm, that is. 'Words to think about, after you've killed in the line of duty' he called it. He said Aurors weren't supposed to be callous about it, but it was necessary. Then he cracked a really bad pun."

"Not a serious/Sirius one?" I ask.

"No. Two Death Eaters walk into a bar. The Auror ducks."

I groan.

And I know we're okay. Of course, I know something else will come up.

**Two Years Later (well, more like one and a half)**

"I am sick and tired of your constant bickering, sniping, hexing, and other assorted bullshit. Is this understood?"

Both of them are surprised by my cursing. I honestly doubt either Ronald or Draco have ever even heard an adult swear. With Draco, I honestly doubt he's ever heard _anyone_ swear. Bill and Charlie both had their occasional bouts, I'm sure.

They both open their mouths at once to whine, and I silence them. They both know they've been silenced. This has happened to the pair of them often enough. It makes me wonder why they keep trying.

"Quit your whining. And don't tell me you aren't whining. I know _both_ of you are thinking it."

I tap my wand on each of their heads. Confundus Charm, so that they don't try to just yell and scream at each other, and instead _actually talk_.

"Detention. Right now. Your punishment? You have to _talk_. I'll be back after dinner."

With that, I slam the door to my classroom, lock it, and take a moment to rest on the door. Ron and Draco's voices fail to penetrate the silencing charm. I turn to spot Hermione and Daphne.

"Professor Black-Evans? What are you doing to Weasley?" asks Hermione. I really wish they'd just call me Black Evans. Then I'd start wearing an eye-patch, carry a sword, and press-gang the Weasley twins into my crew. God help the Drumstrang students during the Triwizard Tournament. And it is happening next year. McGonagall has already asked me about it.

"Locking him in a room with Draco Malfoy."

"Oh," comments Hermione.

Daphne merely nods in understanding.

"Two idiots enter, one idiot leaves?" she asks. I shouldn't have let her watch the Mad Max series.

"I'm hoping it won't come to that. As a teacher, I do require students to talk about their problems," I reply.

"Did you need to cast an Imperius Curse?" asks Daphne.

"No, just a very specific confundous charm. Now, off to dinner, the pair of you."

"Yes, Professor," they respond, and leave, giggling.

My head rests against the door, even as I'm still leaning on it. This is probably a bad idea, but at this point? I need less stress in my life. I take a long breath, and walk back to my quarters.

Sally-Anne is already at the table. Tonks is cooking, for once. Ted has a love of Italian food that is unsurpassed, even by actual Italians, and it's been passed on to Tonks as well. I have talents at both English and French myself (I've often been called a blasphemer for daring to utter those two concepts in a single sentence), but nothing beats Tonks' Lasagne, with fresh baked bread.

Sally-Anne gives a rather long and involved story about Black and Hinkypunks that I suspect would only be funny if I was there. She mostly does it because she knows it annoys me, not out of any lingering misguided crush. Instead, she's got one on Cedric Diggory, which I leave alone. Cedric, for the most part, is actually a good bloke, and I can see why he became the Hogwarts Champion.

Hedwig is also here, for once. It seems she's become a fair bit like me, in some regards. Very independent, very private, and finding some sort of strange love in her life. I ask very few questions, and am terribly amused by all of the hickeys she acquires.

So I decide now is as good a time as any to drop the good news.

"Oh, Tonks? Can you tell Amelia I won't be able to work any of the major spell-casting drills in the next few weeks?" As part of Tonks staying on as an Auror, Amelia decided it'd be a good idea to give the Aurors some training in how to fight. I'm cruel, unfair, and mean. They either learn to be back, or they quit.

"Sure, why?"

"I'm pregnant," I reply, entirely deadpan, taking another bite of glorious, delicious lasagne.

"Oh, okay."

Wait for it.

Hedwig giggles to herself.

"What?" asks Sally-Anne.

"Wait, wait, wait, what was that?" asks Tonks.

"I'm pregnant. Poppy confirmed it this afternoon."

"Er... from me?"

"Well, I should hope so," I reply.

"When do you two have time to have sex?" blurts Sally-Anne. She spends about half her nights in her room, and invites Hermione and Daphne over for sleepovers on a regular basis.

"Well, as I recall, we were probably on the Astronomy Tower on one of the nights I should have been patrolling."

Sally-Anne looks mortified that I'm actually answering her question, but she was annoying me with Black earlier. It's justified.

"Didn't you notice-me-not the door?" asks Tonks, catching on.

"No, I conjured a fake wall." I blame a rather ingenious MIT prank. I should get the twins a book on those. Then again, McGonagall might have a heart attack. "Sinistra assumed Hogwarts had just blocked off the Astronomy Tower for the night, according to the next staff meeting."

"I don't need to hear this," whines Sally-Anne.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to embarrass and horrify us with your own stories about boyfriends-"

"Or girlfriends!" chimes in Hedwig to Sally-Anne's dismay.

"Or girlfriends," I add. "Although I rather doubt that last bit."

"Oh, thanks," grumbles Sally-Anne.

"You're very welcome!" I reply. "But yes, that should have been the right night, and I don't recall us using the contraceptive charm."

Tonks nods, while Sally-Anne continues to look horrified that we, her parents, are discussing such matters in a frank and open manner. Hedwig is just perched on her seat, giggling uncontrollably.

"Which reminds me, contraceptive charm?" I ask her.

She points at herself, and I make note of the slight pink glow.

"Excellent!" I drill her on this on a regular basis.

"This definitely calls for a celebration," says Tonks.

0x0x0x0

It's well after midnight that I remember locking Draco and Ron into my classroom, and I figure I should let them out at some point. Tonks and Hedwig join me in a quiet walk through the school.

I unlock and open the door, and it's quiet, too quiet. Then the smell assaults my nostrils.

Fuck.

I find them behind my desk, lying bundled up in each other's robes. Draco's curled up into Ron, and I almost find it cute.

"I told you so," comments Hedwig. I can _feel_ the shit-eating grin on her face.

"Why the fuck does this shit always land in my lap?" I mutter out loud, while Tonks starts laughing like a hyena.

0x0x0x0

**Author's Note:** AND LO, IT IS DONE.

I think I'm going to start ending any long work I do with that phrase. For the record, it's always a weird feeling to see far more popular author's make your own story a favourite/alert. Or review it. Or anything like that.

I find Draco and Ron to deserve each other. They're both jealous, egotistical imbeciles, whose families have set high expectations for, and both realise that they're probably not going to reach those expectations. I'm always surprised not to come across more of it, in my trollings through the internet, since it has a so much Romeo/Juliet connotations (two families that hate each other? ZOMG, SLASH THEM TO DEATH!11111). Then again, I read HP/LV slash because it's _funny_.

I had this big note explaining the Big Dig, but then I realised nobody would care. So instead, I'll say this to all my American Readers: I apologize about Romney. He was just as much of a lying scumbag when he was our Governor. I still don't understand how he got elected.

** On Lobster: **Lobster should always be consumed at small, family owned restaurants. Lobsters are not meant to be carried from New England on trucks or plains or trains. They are to be taken from a boat, kept in a tank for a day at most, and then dropped into a pot of boiling water headfirst, and left there until they turn a brilliant red colour. They are then eaten with butter, and taste _amazing._

** Extra Edited Side Note (I can't believe I forgot this story!)**: On the subject of renting cars, rumor has it that Tom Brady, when he first came to Massachusetts, attempted to rent a car. Except he was under 25, which most rental places didn't used to do for insurance reasons. Namely, because MA used to have car insurance laws regulated up to your eyeballs, so Tom _couldn't rent a car. _He's the brand-new star quarterback of the Patriots, and he can't rent a car. So, instead, he just buys the car rental place. Welcome to MA.


End file.
